


The Family Man

by madeitsimple



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Civil War Fix-It, Domestic Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Superfamily (Marvel), Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeitsimple/pseuds/madeitsimple
Summary: Tony Stark wakes up in a strange apartment. The first thing he sees, much to his surprise and relief, is Steve Rogers, leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee.He has no idea how he got here, but he knows he doesn't want to leave.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Nic Cage movie.

It is the softness of the bed that he notices first. That and the morning light, aggressive and bright, filtering in through the curtains. The inconsistencies tug at his sleep addled brain, but he pushes them away and flips onto his stomach, burying his face a little deeper into the pillow.   


He’s usually a light sleeper, but right now, Tony feels like he’s been drugged.   


In his bedroom at the compound, the blackout shades are drawn tight every night to keep the floodlights out. At Stark Tower, his bedroom had a western exposure, ensuring early morning sunlight only filtered in under the door. In both places, his mattress had the firmness level of a concrete slab, resistant to any kind of sagging.   


Both things nag at him, making him squirm until he is reluctantly more awake than asleep.   


_ It’s too bright in here,  _ he thinks.  _ And this bed is too soft.   
_

It hits him then. __

_ This isn’t my room. This isn’t my bed.  _

Tony bolts upright, his heart suddenly racing at the thought. He flings back the covers and looks around at the unfamiliar room. It’s small, smaller than anything he’s used to, but clean and bright, and just big enough for a queen bed, two wooden night tables and an armoire jammed into a corner.   


_ This is not good.   
_

Stumbling out of bed, Tony tries to remember anything about the night before. He gets vague images---the inside of a black town car, a flash of Pepper’s face, but nothing specific. Somehow he ended up here, in a stranger’s bedroom, in a strange bed.   


_Yeah, this is very, very not good._

Spurred into action by that thought, Tony bolts out of the bedroom and into a narrow hallway, stopping just as quickly as the sudden movement causes his head to spin. He takes a deep breath and pauses, noticing for the first time a dull, radiating pain across his right side. Doing his best to ignore it, Tony takes a few tentative steps forward, looking for any clue as to where he might be.   


“Hello?” he calls out.   


Nothing.   


Before he can fully get his bearings, the hallway opens up into a cozy living room and kitchen area. Bright, morning sunlight fills the entire space. The first thing he sees, much to his surprise and relief, is Steve Rogers, leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee.   


“Hey,” Steve says, greeting him with a smile. The light catches his hair, giving it a golden sheen. “Good morning. I was wondering when you’d get up.”

“Hi...” Tony draws the word out like a question, waiting for Rogers to explain what the fuck is happening.   


Steve’s smile turns into a smirk.   


“I told you not to match Rhody drink for drink.” he says, putting down the coffee. “You look like you need a few more hours of sleep. Listen, I gotta get to work, but Peter is still sleeping.” He starts to move around the kitchen with the impatient air of a man who should’ve left 10 minutes ago. He grabs his wallet and keys, shoving them both into various pockets. “He was up so late last night, I didn’t want to wake him. Make sure he either takes his lunch or has money, ok? He keeps forgetting to eat.”   


_ Peter? Lunch money?   
_

“Rogers, wait,” Tony says, trying to stop him. “Listen, what the hell happened last night? How did I get here?”   


Steve looks over, his brow already furrowing.   


“You and Rhody went out for drinks and I assume he brought you home. I was in bed by the time you got in,” he says. “Are you ok? You look dazed.”   


Tony blinks a few times, taking in words like “ _ home” _ and “ _ in bed _ .” Before he can respond, Steve turns towards the sound of footsteps padding down the hallway.   


“Morning,” Peter says, yawning as he shambles past them. Tony’s only barely able to check his surprise.   


“Hey, kid,” Steve says. “Lunch is on the counter. Do not, and I mean it in all caps Peter, do not forget to eat.”   


Peter grunts out an affirmative response and grabs the creal. Whatever’s happening here, Steve doesn’t look fazed in the slightest. It unnerves Tony even more.   


“Listen, I’m late. I’ll call you later, ok?” he says. Steve catches his eye and places an efficient but warm goodbye kiss on the corner of Tony’s mouth. 

Internally, Tony goes from freaked out to slightly hysterical.   


_ What the fuck was that.   
_

The last time he and Rogers had even seen each other had been two years ago, somewhere in the middle of Siberia, both of them warped with anger and pain. They’d try to kill each other. But even before the return of the Winter Soldier, when they were still teammates, when they were still friends, they’d never done  _ that. _   


Mouth slightly agape, Tony stares at Steve’s retreating figure, taking in his khakis and light blue button down for the first time. Whatever Steve is dressed for, it’s not Avenging.   


“Hey, Uncle Tony, I’ll be home late today, ok?” Peter’s voice snaps him back into the moment. “Ned and I are staying after for robotics club and we’re just like,  _ so close _ to finishing the motorized portion, and I think his mom is coming to take us out to dinner to this incredible Korean BBQ place later, that’s cool right?”   


Stunned, Tony nods once, which Peter must take as permission, since he keeps talking in one long, run on sentence.   


“Man, I gotta shower still,” he says, shoveling food into his mouth. “You guys never wake me up anymore and I slept through the alarm, so I’m definitely going to be late and you’re definitely getting a call from the school or something...”   


Tony can’t hear him over the panicked ringing in his ears, the reality that he’s woken up to something very different and very wrong catching up to him. Taking a deep breath, he waits until Peter’s sprinted up from the table and in the bathroom before trying something he knows probably won’t work.   


“FRIDAY? A little help?”   


Silence.   


“Yeah, didn’t think so,” he mumbles to himself.   


_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.   
_

He is very much on his own.   


Head still spinning, Tony takes in the apartment around him. It’s spacious enough, the large living area dominated by two overstuffed leather couches clustered around a TV, while the kitchen runs the length of the far wall. There’s a dining area off the side, and tasteful rugs in neutral colors break up the monotony of dark, hardwood floors. Three large windows line the back wall of the space, letting in a ton of morning light. Even in his haze, Tony knows that would’ve been a selling point for Steve. Even though Tony’s having a hard time figuring out what’s going on here, why Rogers would kiss him goodbye, why he’d be sharing an apartment with Peter, he feels oddly safe.   


Before he can dwell on it more, Peter emerges from his bedroom, shoving his feet into shoes while simultaneously trying to pull on a hoodie and run out the door.   


“Wait, do you have a lunch? Or, uh, need money or something?” Tony asks, remembering Steve’s command from earlier.   


With a mild eye roll, Peter backtracks, grabs the brown bag on the counter and shoves it into his backpack.   


“Bye, love you,” he shouts and slams the door behind him.   


_ Yeah, something somewhere has gone very, very screwy.   
_

Alone again, Tony collapses into a chair and tries to unravel the events of the night before. Steve says he’d gone out with Rhody, but he has no memory of it. It seems ridiculous that he can recall, in total detail, the specs for all 50 Iron Man marks, but can’t recall what he ate 12 hours ago or who he was with.   


Dropping his head in his hands, he tries to think. His last clear memory is of riding in the back of a town car with Pepper, somewhere in the city. He’s fuzzy on the details, but something on his phone catches his attention, he’s just not sure what. The longer he tries to focus on Pepper, the car, the phone, the more the pain ratchets up inside his head. Finally, he pulls back, letting the scene drift from his mind.   


The effort of remembering leaves him shaky and nauseous, making him rush to the sink to spit up a mouthful bile. Had he been drugged? Was he dreaming now? Or was this some elaborate, drunken hallucination? Whatever happened last night, he’d woken up this morning living with Steve Rogers, a thought Tony doesn’t find unappealing exactly as much as he does  _ bat shit fucking crazy.   
_

The guy hates him. For a long time, he’d thought the feeling was mutual. But lately, he’d stared at the phone Rogers had mailed him more and more often, wondering if his anger and pride had robbed him of one of the truly great friendships of his life. They fought, yes, but they also challenged each other, made each other better. Life without Steve had been frustratingly incomplete, like turning to a friend to share a story, only to find the other person had long since left the room.   


He’d thought a lot about Steve over the past two years, his name lingering at the edge of almost every thought. At first, it had been anger and resentment, just plain fury over Rogers’ misguided loyalties and ideals. With time, the anger had morphed into hurt and self-pity. He’d tried to nurse a grudge against him but found it wouldn’t hold. Lately, he’d been more wistful, wondering if there wasn’t a way back for them as friends.   


No, it was no accident that Tony was here, in this apartment, with these two people. He didn’t know why, or what was going on, but there had to be a reason. Did he get sucked into an alternate dimension? Maybe. An infinity stone? Unlikely but sure, why not. Some really fucked up, potent Asgardian liquor? Again, not totally unlikely. A spell from Loki? Definitely a possibility.   


Still reeling a bit, Tony takes a closer look around the apartment. exploring the lives of its occupants. There’s mail piled on the side table by the door, addressed to both Mr. Steve Rogers and Mr. Tony Stark, an old Army sweatshirt discarded on the back of a sofa, a trio of tall plants in the far corner straining towards the sunlight.   


Under the bank of windows, mismatched picture frames catch his attention. With tentative hands, Tony examines each one closely. There’s one of him and Rogers in nice suits, with their arms thrown around each other, chests puffed up, smiling wide at the camera. Another of them pointing goofily at a 1st place ribbon Peter’s holding, and one of Steve, sweaty and smiling, proudly holding up a New York Marathon finishers medal. There’s one of Tony leaning over a car, greasy and disheveled but with a grin on his face. Way in the back, a smaller, older photo catches his eye. In it, Tony is leaning into Steve with his head resting slightly on his shoulder. Both are in mid laugh, Steve with his head tipped back slightly. They look not just happy, but lighthearted carefree in a way Tony can’t ever remember being. 

It’s dawning on Tony what he’s woken up to, but none of it makes any damn sense.

Returning the frame back to its rightful spot, Tony makes another sweep of the living room and spots a phone on the coffee table. Grabbing it, he taps out a few Google searches to make sure that isn’t some crazy, elaborate prank Rhody set up to seriously fuck with him. As suspected, there are no mentions of Iron Man, the Avengers or even the incidents in New York and Sokovia. Stark Industries does pop up though, but instead of it being the world’s largest technology conglomerate, it looks like a garage in Queens.   


He closes out of the Google search and swipes through the phone’s contact list. All the familiar names are there--Happy, Pepper, Rhody, Bruce, Natasha, Clint, plus several more. For a second, he debates dialing up Happy, asking him what the hell is happening, but he knows it won’t do any good, will only make him sound crazy. There’s no one to go to for help, that much is becoming clear. There is no 9-1-1 for having woken up in some kind of alternate reality, and as far as he can tell, he has two options. He could make a break for it, leave now and wander New York City until he figures out what’s happening, or, he could stay, with Steve and Peter, and see what happens next.  



	2. Chapter 2

The garage isn’t so much a garage as it is a giant workshop. Stark Industries is the kind of large, industrial loft space that used to be plentiful in outer boroughs on New York, before waves of international commerce and gentrification made spaces like this almost extinct. After the initial weirdness of, well,  _ everything _ , had worn off, Tony had jumped in the shower and done what he always did when he was craving a sense of normalcy. He went to work. This time work wasn’t in a large corporate tower in midtown or the compound on the outskirts of the city, but down the street in Queens. Now, Tony wanders the building that bears his name, greeting people that know him but he’s never seen before.   


“Tony!” He turns his head in the direction of a brisk, familiar voice. “There are 18 different forms that need your signature. Can you please just sign the things I leave on your desk? Is that so hard? I mean, I even put the little tabs on the places you’re supposed to sign.”

“Pepper? Oh my god, Pepper.” He wraps her up in a tight hug, squeezing her comfort into his bones. They may not be together anymore, but a part of him will always love her.

“Um, hi?” She pats him on the back and pulls away.   


She looks as beautiful as always, her red hair cut slightly shorter than what he remembers, features delicate and precises. Despite the gritty and informal nature of the garage, she’s dressed in a pencil skirt and beige blouse, her appearance impeccable.   


Pepper, Rhody, Steve, Peter. They’re all here. It’s like he stepped over into Oz.   


“Look, next time you’re going to be two hours late, just call. Or text. I can’t help you run this place if you’re just not going to show up for work.”   


“Right, right, papers to sign,” he says. “I’ll do that. Just as soon as I get to my office. Where is that again, by the way?”   


In lieu of an answer, she rolls her eyes and mashes a handful of forms against his chest, walking away. He finds it anyway, tucked into the far back corner of the building.   


“How badly were you hungover this morning?”   


Tony looks up from the paperwork he’s barely started to see Rhody leaning against his office door.   


“It had to be bad because you are never late,” Rhody says. “I told you, don’t try to match me drink for drink, it never ends well for you.”   


He leans back, taking a good, long look at his old friend. Even though he’s wearing coveralls, Tony can tell Rhody is ex-military, his bearing and close cropped hair a dead giveaway. The wedding ring is new though and Tony smiles thinking of the wife and possible kids he may have.   


“Yeah, trust me, I woke up and was not myself this morning,” he replies.

“You still look a little green around the edges, that’s for sure,” Rhody says. He leans in slightly and takes an exaggerated sniff. “Ok, you smell like trash too. That is some serious funk on you, dude.”   


He lets the remark slide, knowing full well Rhody’s just messing with him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you staring at me like that?” Rhody says, frowning over Tony’s lack of response.   


“What? Oh, no it’s nothing,” he says. “Sorry, but can I ask you a question?”   


Groaning, Rhody feigns like he’s walking away, like he already knows what’s coming.    


“Come on, I haven’t even said anything yet!”

“No, you haven't, but I know that look on your face,” Rhody says. “That’s the look that means I’m about to hear some weird, personal details of your life that I very much do not want to know.”   


“It’s not that bad at all,” Tony says. “Look, I’m just a little out of it is all. I woke up...feeling different. Just not myself. You ever wake up and suddenly your entire life looks totally unfamiliar to you?”

Rhody stares at him for a moment, and for a split second Tony thinks he’s going to laugh in his face. Instead, he pulls out a chair and takes a seat.   


“Honestly? No,” he says. “Usually, it’s the opposite. Everything feels too familiar. Look, I love Carol and the kids unconditionally, but sometimes, knowing what every day of my life for the next 20 years is going to look like makes me crazy.”   


Tony nods, pretending to understand. One thing about being an Avenger, getting into a rut was never an issue. The tranquility of a day-to-day routine actually sounds kind of nice.

“Yeah, forget I said anything,” Tony says, waving his hand. “Like I said, weird day...just, you know, woke up this morning and was like,  _ wow Steve and I are living together, when did that happen, right _ ?” He lets out a weak laugh but Rhody doesn’t join in.   


“It happened five years ago,” he deadpans. “Right after Peter came to live with you. And those two are the best thing that’s ever happened to you. What’s all this about? You and Steve have a fight or something? Did he nag you about having to put your drunk ass to bed last night?”   


“No...no, nothing like that,” Tony says, processing this new tidbit of information. “Forget I said anything ok, just an off morning.”

“Look, I know routines can wear you down sometimes,” Rhody says. “It’s weird to think about where we all were and how we ended up here, but you got a good life, man. A great life, even. Steve loves you. Peter basically worships you. And I’m your best friend. What else could you want?”   


Tony barkes out a laugh as Rhody slaps him on the back and leaves.   


_ So, Steve loves me, huh?   
_

That’s the logical assessment he’d made earlier, but it’s different to hear Rhody say it like that, out loud, as a fact of daily life. It sends a surge of warmth through Tony and for the first time since he woke up, he feels marginally close to OK.   


Around 6, exhausted and with the beginnings of a headache pushing at his temple, Tony heads back to the apartment, a flutter on anticipation in his stomach. He lingers outside the door, delaying his entry, unsure of what awaits him. For a brief moment, he considers just telling Steve the truth.

_ Hey, this is gonna sound crazy, but I’m actually Iron Man, you’re Captain America, the kid also has superpowers, we haven’t spoken in a few years and I think I’m having some crazy, mind-bending hallucination. Also, what’s for dinner?   
_

He doesn’t though, not only because it makes him sound nuts, but because he doesn’t want to go another few rounds over their shared, painful history.   


“Tony? Is that you?” Steve calls from the kitchen as Tony opens the door.   


“Uh, yeah, it’s me,” he says, drifting further inside. “Hey...honey.” The endearment feels flat and stupid on his tongue. Not only does he feel like an idiot, he sounds like one too.   


“Hi, _ dear _ ,” Steve exaggerates the word, like he’s picking up on Tony’s joke. The kitchen is a hub of activity as Steve juggles various dishes, giving Tony a few seconds to observe him fully for the first time since this morning. He looks almost the same as when they’d last seen each other, clean shaven and sturdy, his hair slightly longer, but still streaked with blond. From the small entryway, Tony sees what looks like salmon in a skillet, a pan of roasted potatoes and sauce bubbling in a pan. The sight of dinner jogs his memory.   


“Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you!” he blurts out, remembering the vague conversation from what he can’t believe is just this morning. “Peter’s not going to be home for dinner.” He holds his breath, waiting for Steve’s reaction. From his experience with Pepper, botched dinner plans are the kind of thing couples have big fights over.   


“I know,” Steve says, smiling and wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. “He texted me this afternoon in the very likely event that you’d forget to tell me.”   


“Oh, right. Well never mind then,” Tony says sheepishly. “Sorry about that. It’s just been a busy day with…everything...just being all over the place.” 

“It’s fine,” Steve says, sliding the potatoes into the oven. “Plus, it gives us a chance to have a grown up meal for a change.”   


“Yeah, totally,” Tony nods, distracted briefly by the site of Rogers bending over. “That smells great, by the way. Never knew you had such culinary skills, Rogers.”   


Steve turns to him with a slight frown. “That’s the second time you’ve done that today,” he says, making Tony panic a little.   


_ Done what exactly? _

“You know I don’t like it when you call me ‘Rogers.’ It makes me feel like I’m back in the Army.”   


_ Ah, right. Shit.   
_

“Sorry,” he says, meaning it. “Just slipped out.”

For a second, Tony thinks his covers blown, that Steve’s pegged him for the imposter he is. He braces for a pointed accusation of,  _ who are you and what have you done with the real Tony Stark?  _ Instead, Steve slides his arms around Tony’s waist and pulls him into a loose embrace, making his pulse jump. From this close, he can see that Zemo was right. There is a bit of green in the blue of his eyes.   


“You ok?” Steve says, his eyes searching Tony’s. “You seemed pretty out of it this morning. I’m sorry I had to rush out.”

Mustering up a reassuring smile, Tony lays a hand lightly on the bare strip of Steve’s forearm.   


“Yeah, I’m good. I swear. I was just totally out of it this morning. Hungover. Sleepy. That’s the last time Rhody and I get drinks without a chaperone.”   


“You sure?” Steve asks, scanning for any clue that Tony is most assuredly full of shit.   


“I’m fine,” Tony reassures him. “Honestly, I feel great.”   


The thing is, the longer Steve looks at him like this, stands this close to him, the better Tony feels. The buzzing in his head has quieted since he entered the apartment, and the warm feel of Steve’s arm at his back eases tension he didn’t know he was holding. It should feel weird, awkward for the two of them to be this close, but Tony can’t help but relax into the touch, melting almost involuntarily into Steve’s arms. He shifts willingingly when Steve tugs lightly at his waist, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer. The slight tilt of his head sends Tony’s heart racing, but he still isn’t fully prepared for the warm press of Steve’s mouth to his own. He freezes for a second before finally kissing back.   


He’d always imagined Steve would be a tentative kisser, somewhat timid, but there’s nothing shy about the way he’s licking into Tony’s mouth now, the soft sweep of his tongue tracing along Tony’s lips, patient but insistent. There were so many times that he’d longed for this, for both of them to just drop their suits and be just Steve and Tony, that he lets himself get lost in the sensation, so new and thrilling, but at the same time oddly familiar.   


Whether this is a dream or an alternate universe or some dark magic, if he has the chance to explore Steve Rogers’ mouth, he’s damn well going to take it. In his imagination, when he’d let himself entertain an idea like this at all, they went at it hard and fast, maybe after a mission, somewhere neutral like the Quinjet. He never thought it would be like this, slow and sweet, in a tiny kitchen, while cooking dinner.   


_ Dinner. Shit.   
_

Reluctantly, he tugs lightly at the back of Steve’s head, pulling them apart.   


“I hate to break up the make out session, but I’m pretty sure your salmon’s on fire right now.”

“Fuck.”   


Steve lets out a comical yelp and lunges for the stove, snapping off the burner and removing the pan from heat with a clatter. He’s starring bitterly at their ruined dinner while Tony cackles.   


“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” he glares, “you’re still going to have to eat this.”   


Tony smiles wider, enjoying the spectacle of a frazzled Steve Rogers.   


“Should’ve kept it in your pants,” he says, ignoring the death glare Steve gives him.

Leaving Steve to salvage their meal, Tony heads to the bedroom to wash up and change. Inside his closet, instead of Tom Ford suits, are a series of button down shirts and casual blazers, mixed with the kind of plaid flannel that he wore almost exclusively in college. He should be nervous, staring down the barrel of an uninterrupted dinner with this Bizzaro Steve Rogers, but if truth be told, he’s mostly excited, grateful for the opportunity to see an old friend. It’s been years since they’ve talked, and even if how he ended up here is entirely questionable, Steve Rogers is Steve Rogers in any universe, and for now that will have to do.   


He’s back in the kitchen a few minutes later, having exchanged his work wear for jeans and a trusty Stark Industries t-shirt.   


“How’s it look?” he asks.   


“Edible, but just barely,” Steve says, his face still sour. “Come on, it’s not going to taste any better if it gets cold.”   


They eat quietly, the salmon charred but still surprisingly good, and fall into an easy pattern of conversation. There isn’t soft music in the background or candle light flickering across the table, but the meal still feels intimate and sweet, date night, but without leaving the house.   


It should be hard, filling in the role of Tony Stark, mechanic and dutiful life partner, but he finds it comes pretty naturally. Steve listens to him talk about the garage, the easy day of fixing brakes and being late, getting shit from Pepper. In turn, he hears stories about the VA, where Steve works, his counseling sessions, how the paperwork for even a minor increase in funding is driving him insane. It’s almost too easy, but Tony doesn’t question it, just enjoys the sound of Steve’s voice, the earnestness that’s been missing from his life for so long.

“This is nice,” he says, pushing the last of his potatoes around his plate. “I missed this. Just you and me. Talking.”   


Steve crosses his arms and leans back slightly in his chair, fixing Tony with a fond look.   


“One slightly burned dinner and you’re getting sentimental?” he says.   


“It’s just mean, it’s been a long time since we’ve done...this,” Tony waves his fork between the two of them.   


“Yeah, well, maybe we should do it more often,” Steve says, reaching over and giving Tony’s hand a quick squeeze. “I don’t think Peter’s too excited about family date nights anymore either.”   


As if on cue, they hear the sound of the front door opening, Peter’s voice ringing out before he’s even all the way inside.   


“Did you burn something?” he calls. “It smells like there was a fire.”   


“Speak of the devil,” Steve says, giving him a little wave.   


He looks, Tony thinks, the same as the first time they’d met at his aunt’s place in Queens. So slight and so young, with a wide grin across his face.   


Pulling out his headphones, Peter drops down in the free seat next to them, clearly exhausted.   


“You guys would not believe this day,” he starts. “It was crazy. First of all, you can’t let me be late anymore, I practically missed all of first period, and the second I got there Ned was already talking about a robotics emergency, which, let me clear, there was not. Plus, guess what, surprise Spanish quiz after lunch. Thankfully, I am a Spanish wiz, but still, on a Friday? Come on. Also, before I forget, I think we have an Academic Decathlon trip to Philadelphia coming up, which I may have forgotten to mention and also one of you may need to be a chaperone for because, after last time, Ned’s mom is just not into it...”Peter doesn’t stop talking for a good 10 minutes, taking them through his day while Steve and Tony clean up.   


There should be friction at some point, a stumble or a glitch that outs him, but Tony adjusts to the after dinner routine seamlessly. Details that should be a mystery filter into his mind. He knows he’s the one that washes up, while Steve wipes the table, and that even though the kitchen floor looks spotless, Steve will unnecessarily sweep up. Details filter unbidden into his mind and he doesn’t question it, content to listen to Peter’s chatter and Steve’s occasional grunts of acknowledgement.   


He should be more worried about where he is, why he’s here, but he has long since relegated those thoughts to the back of his mind. Frankly, Tony’s starting to get invested in this elaborate charade. 

After dinner, he follows Peter out into the living room and plops down next to him on the sofa, while Steve disappears into the bedroom. He comes back out a few minutes later, dressed in gray sweatpants and a worn Army t-shirt, that Tony’s fingers itch to touch. He sinks down next to Tony with a long sigh and presses up against his side. Tony briefly closes his eyes against the sudden warmth of so much Steve Rogers next to him.   


As they settle in, Peter fumbles with the remote and cues up  _ The Walking Dead _ , a show Tony’s never seen, but has heard all about from Wanda and Clint. It’s violent and complicated and, had he not just woken up in a totally alien reality, something he may even have enjoyed. Instead of focusing on the murdering and zombies though, his attention is occupied by the lazy way Steve’s elbow rests against his stomach, the way their shoulders slightly overlap. As he breathes in, he gets a stray whiff of Steve, the distinct smell that’s bits of cologne mixed with shampoo mixed with something more earthy and warm, a composite of olfactory signals that recall sandalwood mixed with citrus. Were he a braver man, Tony would bury his nose in Steve’s neck.   


On his other side is Peter, who’s stretched out his legs until the arches of his feet are pressed against Tony’s thigh. Together, they’ve trapped him, fenced him in, their casual touches no less formidable than prison bars. He could shift away, jostling Steve’s elbow off his stomach, or cross his legs, leaving Peter’s bare feet without an anchor, but he stays put, not wanting to disrupt this delicate, familial balance.   


At the end of the second episode, Steve flips off the TV and stands up to stretch.   


“This show is so messed up,” he says through a yawn. His face softens as he looks down at them both.   


“Should we leave him?” he asks, eyebrows raised towards the kid.   


Peter is curled up on his side, deeply asleep. With his face pressed into the couch cushions, Tony sees clearly what he must have looked like as a little boy, hair falling in tufts over his forehead, his mouth slack with sleep.   


Loath to wake him, Tony shakes his leg gently. “Come on, Pete” he says. “Show’s over, kid. Time for bed.”   


Peter mumbles but doesn't wake, curling further into himself.   


With a sigh, Steve bends down and puts one hand under Peter’s knees and the other around his shoulders, lifting him as if he weighed nothing.   


“It’s alright, I got him,” he whispers.   


With an exaggerated  _ oof _ he takes Peter into his arms and carries him down the hall to his bedroom. “You’re getting awfully big to be carried, kid,” he chides, but there’s no heat in it, just an undercurrent of fondness so deep it makes Tony’s heart ache.   


_ This is how it should be,  _ he thinks, chest tight with emotion.  _ Steve and me and Peter. Together.   
_

As Steve deposits Peter in his room, Tony heads for their bedroom. For modesty’s sake, he pulls on pajama pants and keeps his t-shirt, sliding under the covers before Steve enters the room. He could pretend to be asleep already, avoid prolonging whatever their nighttime ritual is, but he watches as Steve drops his watch on the bedside table, and strips off his sweatpants and shirt. Clad in just his boxers, he slides in next to Tony and flips off the light. The closeness of their bodies in the tight space is overwhelming and Tony forces himself to breath, to relax, to calm sudden the flush all across his body. 

“Tony?”

“Hm?”   


“You sure you’re ok?” Steve flips over onto his stomach and throws an arm around Tony’s waist, sliding closer.   


Tony nods in the dark. “Yeah, never been better,” he says, tracing the thick cord of muscle along Steve’s bare forearm.   


All evening, Tony had restrained himself from touching Steve, had forbidden his hands from reaching out and petting to maintain a sense of propriety. Now, in the dark, he lets himself go, lets his fingertips wander freely across the broad plan of Steve’s back and through his hair, touching, tracing, petting, allowing himself the luxury of time to steal whatever he can out of this moment. Steve relaxes under his touch, nuzzling his face into Tony’s neck, his breath slowing until Tony’s sure he’s asleep. This morning, waking up in a strange bed in a strange apartment, he’d felt like an interloper, terrified and confused as to what had happened and why he was here. Now, as he drifts off, Steve’s soft breath grazing his neck, he feels undeniably at home.   



	3. Chapter 3

When he wakes this time, he’s not alone in bed, but rather has 6 feet and 2 inches of super soldier wrapped around him. Golden, early morning light streams in through the windows, nudging him awake. Blinking slowly, Tony catalogues his situation. Steve’s hand has traveled up and under his shirt, and there’s the press of morning wood against the back of his thigh. He could slide out from under Steve’s arm, shift away delicately, putting distance between their bodies, but he stays where he is, breathing in their mingled, sleepy smell.   


Not ready to get up, Tony trails his fingertips lightly across Steve’s arm, till Steve curls around him tighter. He can tell by Steve’s breathing he’s awake, but neither of them say anything, content to drift until there’s a soft knock at the door.   


“Are you up?” Peter peaks his head into the room. “Do you want eggs or pancakes or both?”   


Steve lets out a loud groan at the intrusion before rolling over and stretching dramatically.   


“Both,” he says, yawning and scratching at his stomach.   


They get up, navigate the single, small, bathroom and join Peter out in the kitchen, where eggs have been cracked into a bowl and pancakes are currently on a griddle. Peter stands over them, spatula in his hand, toes curled against the cool title.   


There’s no sense of urgency, not like yesterday morning, and Tony surmises it must be a Saturday.   


“Don’t worry, I’m not going to burn them this time,” Peter says. “I know last time it was a mix of well done on the outside and raw on the inside, but I got it down.”   


“I’m just hoping they’re edible,” Steve says, lacing up his running shoes. “Save me some.” He drops a quick kiss on Tony’s lips before heading out the door. “See you in a bit.”

Searching for his part in their morning routine, Tony makes coffee and watches as Peter monitors the timing of eggs and pancakes, impressed at his level of enthusiasm for even the most mundane tasks of life. 

They talk about school, about Ned, a girl named MJ, the Korean place he can’t wait to show Steve and Tony. He is a fountain of good natured excitement, and not for the first time, Tony marvels at how his spirit has stayed in tact after everything he’s been through.   


By the time Steve comes back 30 minutes later, sweaty and out of breath, eggs and pancakes and toast and coffee are all on the table.   


“Seriously dude, you reek.” Peter makes an exaggerated face as Steve drops down next to him. “You have to shower,”   


With a smirk, Steve pulls Peter into a headlock, making him howl.

The morning passes as he assumes all family mornings pass. They eat, clean up and Steve finally showers. Peter lounges on the couch alternately reading a book and playing with his phone, still in his pajamas. Tony tries to busy himself but is ultimately at a loss for what to do. What does he do when he’s not being Iron Man and running the Avengers and trying to supply the world with clean energy? With no imminent crisis headed his way, he putters around the apartment in his pajamas, drinking coffee, opening mail and flipping through a magazine.   


“You’re not going into the garage today?” Steve asks, emerging from the shower and towling his hair.   


“Uhhhh no. Not today,” he says. Right. It makes sense that even in this universe he is not a man accustomed to down time. “Thought I’d take a break for once”   


Peter perks up. “Oh awesome! You’re going to be around all day?”   


“Yeah,” he says. “All day. At your service, kid. Whatever you want to do.”   


They do a lot. There’s a trip to a specialty electronics store all the way in midtown, lunch at a Vietnamese noodle shop, a dry cleaning run, plus groceries. By the time they stagger back through the door in the late afternoon, Tony’s beat.   


“Don’t get too comfortable,” Steve says. He begins to unload groceries while Tony drops onto the sofa. “Nat and Clint are coming over later. I invited Sam too but he says he sees enough of me during the week.”   


“Wait, Nat and Clint? You mean Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton?” 

“That’s usually who I’m referring to when I say Nat and Clint, yes.” Steve shuts the pantry door and walks over to him, puzzled. “You’ve been super weird lately, you know that? All day today you’ve been walking around with a dopey look on your face. Like you’ve never spent a Saturday afternoon running errands.”

  
_ That’s because I haven’t _ , he wants to say.    


“Seriously, at the market you kept spacing on what we needed, and,” Steve pauses, turns his head slightly to make sure Peter’s in his bedroom, out of earshot. “I love Peter and want to give him everything in the world too, but can we really afford $850 for a VEX Mecha-whatever robotics kit?”

“Mechtronics,” Tony says.   


“Whatever. We’re not doing badly but that’s a big purchase, Tony. We should’ve talked about it first. Also, you bought the organic almond milk,” Steve says. “Are we just not on a budget anymore?”   


These are things he’s never had to think about before. Money. Not only is he no longer Iron Man, but he’s no longer Tony Stark, the richest man in the world. He’s never checked a price tag in his life.   


“Right. You’re right,” Tony says, perversely enjoying the moment. This is what normal people fight about. Grocery bills and money issues. Not signing the Sokovia Accords.   


“I’m sorry, I really am,” he says. “I just got carried away, that’s all. He’s such a smart kid, Steve. He has so much potential. I mean, when I was that age, all I wanted to do was run away from home and get high. He’s just...so special. He builds robots in his spare time, he comes home for dinner every night, and, I can’t believe this, but I think he actually  _ likes _ spending time with us. When I was 15 I wanted nothing to do with my old man.”   


Sighing, Steve sits down next to him, placing a hand on his knee. “I know you had a tough time with your dad, Tony. I get it. I do. And adopting Peter was the best thing you’ve ever done. I’m just saying, next time give me a quick heads up, ok?”   


“Ok, yeah. Of course,” he says, giving Steve his best puppy dog eyes. “Do you want me to take it back?”   


“Oh, so I can be the bad guy?” Steve laughs. “No, of course not. Just...communicate more, okay?”   


“Yep, you got it, Cap.”   


“What?” Steve furrows his brows at the unfamiliar nickname.   


“Um, nothing. Just short for Captain. Since you’ve been  _ captaining _ us around all day. Just a new nickname I’m trying out. “

“Yeah, well, knock it off. It’s weird.” 

Tony snaps off a mock salute. “Aye, aye Cap.” 

Rolling his eyes, Steve heads for the kitchen to start dinner. 

By 6:30, they’ve showered and changed, Tony exchanging one flannel for another, while Steve swaps his gray henley for gray sweater. By the time the doorbell rings at 7, dinner is ready (strip flank steaks, roasted vegetables, salad) and he and Steve have only had three minor disagreements over dishes, tidying up the place, and how much money Peter needs for an evening out with friends.   


“Is $100 too much?” Tony asks. 

Steve’s withering glare is the only answer he needs. He hands the kid a $20 and, when Steve isn't looking, tries to slip him another $20, with a wink. To his surprise, Peter hands the extra cash back to him, leaving Tony a little dumbfounded.   


“It’s just a sleepover at Ned’s,” he shrugs. “I’m good.”   


He leaves just as Nat and Clint are coming in, promising to text once he’s at Ned’s.   


“Did you try to give him extra money?” Steve asks him, taking Natasha’s coat and kissing her hello.   


“Yeah,” he says. “How did you know?”   


“Did he take it?”   


“No,” Tony says, puzzled. “No, he did not.”   


“Like you said Tony, he’s a smart kid. I think he’s a better saver than you are.”   


Sighing, Tony puts the money back in his wallet as Clint gives him friendly slap on the back. The kid is practical and frugal. Pepper would love him. 

“Remember how he tried to get a job when you first brought him home,” Natasha asks, giving Tony a quick hug. He gives her a quick once over, her fiery red hair and soft features another welcome sight. Instead of being dressed in head-to-toe Black Widow leather though, she’s in black jeans and a cream sweater. “A sweet, 10-year-old on LinkedIn, lying about his age, trying to get a coding job.”   


“He got hired too, right?” Clint says, hanging up his coat. “You guys should’ve let him keep that gig. School’s for suckers.”   


Steve shakes his head at the memory, a wistful look passing over his face. “It was the cutest and saddest thing,” he says. “He thought he had to earn his keep or Tony was going to kick him out.” 

“Well,” Tony says, deflecting from the sudden ache in his chest, “I still might.”   


Everyone laughs, but Tony can’t shake the image of Peter, desperate not to lose another home and it sits heavy in his gut.

“Anyway,” Steve says, leading them to the living room. “Who wants wine?”   


* * *

All through dinner, Tony marvels at Natasha and Clint, who look happy and comfortable, their features less strained, smiles easier without the constant hassle of being master assassins weighing on their shoulders. For the most part, their evening isn’t too different from those rare, big dinners at the compound. There’s less talk about Hydra, alien armies and artificial intelligence, but Steve and Nat still try to one up each other with extreme tales of their military days, while Clint, quiet as always, watches fondly.   


He’s in the kitchen grabbing the coffee for dessert when Natasha makes her way over. She begins pulling cups out of the upper cabinet before speaking.   


“So, you’re unusually quiet tonight,” she says. “And by that I mean you haven’t totally monopolized the conversation. Everything alright?”

He smiles at her concern. “It’s great actually. Just a long week,” he says.   


“You and Steve good?”

“Yeah, as far as I know anyway. You’re the second person to ask me that in as many days, actually. Is our relationship in some kind of trouble that I don’t know about?” 

“No, I’m just saying that any time you seem upset or aren’t actually talking a mile a minute, it’s because you had a fight with Steve.” 

“Well, good to know that’s out there for everyone to gossip about, but no, we’re fine. I’m just….” he trails off, unsure of his own train of thought. He hadn’t planned to bring up alternate realities or parallel universes or whatever the fuck is happening here but Natasha has a way of getting people to lower their defenses.   


“Just what?” 

“You ever get the feeling that the life you’re living isn’t your life? That somewhere out there, there’s a different version of you, maybe one that hasn’t fucked everything up so much?”   


Natasha fixes him with a stare. “Not really,” she says, processing his question. “Are you sure this isn’t about you and Steve?”   


“It’s not about Steve, at least not really.” Tony puts the coffee down and scrubs a hand through his hair. “He’s great. Probably better than I deserve, actually. I mean, he drives me crazy most days, but I don’t know where I’d be without him. I guess I’m just thinking about mistakes I’ve made. If there’s enough time to make up for them.”

She gives him one her rare, sincere smiles and kisses him on the cheek. “There’s always time for that,” she says.   


There’s some comfort in her words, a reminder that perhaps what he’s seeing here isn’t built totally on artifice and deception, but a chance for him to earn some forgiveness. He returns her smile and reaches over to grab the french press again, but for a brief few seconds his fingers can’t grasp the handle. It’s a short, unnerving sensation, his fingers too stiff and suddenly too painful to move. He shakes his hand out, once, twice, overwhelmed at the sudden jolt of pain shooting through his right arm. As quickly as it happened though, it’s gone, leaving him slightly breathless and confused.

“You ok?” Nat frowns at the look on his face.   


“Yeah, yeah, just a cramp,” he mutters, shaking out his hand.   


They take the coffee to the living room, dropping in on a conversation about a new vanity Steve wants to install in their bathroom. Tony lets the conversation carry on without him and discreetly tests his arm out, flexing his fingers and testing their range of motion. A Jarvis or FRIDAY would be pretty damn useful right about now, but all he has is himself. Without an AI to rely on, Tony uses his basic knowledge of physiology to try to diagnose himself. It could’ve been a cramp, maybe some nerve damage? Possibly a muscle spasm?

“Tony?” Steve’s voice draws him back to the room. “You with us?” 

“Yeah, sorry, I just spaced for a second,” he says, taking Steve’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Got lost daydreaming about a bathroom sink I don’t have to double over to use.” 

Steve purses his lips, unconvinced. Tony tries harder for the rest of the evening, pushing the incident with his hand out of his mind. By the time Nat and Clint leave around 10:30 he’s convinced himself it was nothing but a freak spasm. As they say their goodbyes, he pulls Nat in for a hug, giving her an extra long squeeze. He’s missed her too, more than she knows.   


“That was fun,” Steve says, shutting the door after them. He lets out the kind of heavy sigh that usually accompanies company leaving.

Tony nods. He doesn’t remark on how odd it is to see Natasha for an entire evening and not once have her threaten him with physical violence. “I gotta tell you,” he says instead, “I’m _very_ excited about this new vanity in the bathroom. It’s going to be life changing.” 

“Just wait,” Steve says, reaching out and circling his arms around Tony’s waist. “You’ll be able to grab your toothbrush without knocking over your razor.” He pauses before continuing, those three little frown lines on his forehead appearing again. “You were quiet all night, though. Are we still fighting about money and I just don’t know it?”

“What? No. Not at all,” Tony says. He brings his own hands up, resting them lightly on Steve’s shoulders. “I’m just tired is all. Plus, who can get a word in edgewise with you and Natasha trading war stories.”

“Very funny.” Steve rolls his eyes and tugs him closer, dropping his head on Tony’s shoulder. “God, what a long day.” He sighs into the curve of Tony’s neck, letting the day leech out of him.   


“Well, I’m not the one who insisted on dragging us all over New York this morning.” Tony rubs his back lightly, lips grazing the shell of Steve’s ear.   


“Umhp,” Steve mumbles. “Errands have to get done, Tony. Food doesn’t just magically appear in the fridge every week.”   


“It doesn’t? News to me.”

They rest against each other for a few moments, until Steve raises his head and gives Tony a quick kiss on the lips. “Come on, I’ll put the leftovers away if you start washing up.”   


Tony groans. He wonders if he can get Steve to trade in the new bathroom vanity for a dishwasher. 

For all his complaining, it doesn't take that long.   


Soon enough, Steve’s sprawled on the couch in his shirtsleeves, his gray sweater tossed to the side, flipping TV channels mindlessly, unfocused but content. Dropping down on the far side of the sofa, Tony pulls Steve’s bare feet into his lap, tracing the arch of each foot. It’s the most physical content he’s dared to initiate all day. He drifts for a while, focusing on the feel of Steve’s delicate skin under his fingers, feeling more content than he has in ages. In all the years they’ve known each other, worked together, saved the world together, he can’t remember the last time they were this relaxed with each other, in such comfortable silence. Steve’s quiet for so long he thinks maybe he’s fallen asleep, but when he glances over, Steve’s eyes are on him.   


“Tony,” Steve says softly.   


He raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“Come here.” Steve stretches his arm, tugging lightly at Tony’s sleeve.   


_ Oh.   
_

_ Oh boy.   
_

His stomach flips. Logically, he knew sex was on the table, had thought about it as they’d kissed in the kitchen last night, and woke up together this morning, but now, now that the moment is here, Tony feels a burst of panic. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, dear god does he want to, but this is new territory, territory that might not be his to explore. Until last night, he’d never so much as seen Rogers without his shirt on and now it looks like nakedness will soon be on the table. 

He hesitates for a second too long, long enough for a flash of uncertainty to pass over Steve’s face.   


_Fuck it_ , he thinks and drapes his body over Steve’s, bringing their mouths together in a slow, wet kiss. Steve opens to him easily, letting Tony learn the shape and feel of his mouth, moaning in contentment as Tony lets his hands and lips wander freely, touching and tasting as much of Steve as he can. He sets an unhurried pace, sliding his hands under Steve’s shirt, rocking slowly against his hip. 

“Umph,” Steve groans softly and wraps a leg around Tony, bringing them closer together as Tony works a bruise into the hollow of his neck. He moans again, that small bit of friction through two layers of denim and cotton not nearly enough, but Tony makes him wait, lifting his own hips just enough so that Steve’s shifting against air.   


“Um, fuck Tony,” Steve gasps, frustrated.   


“In a second,” he whispers, staring down at Steve’s face. He takes in the red flush across Steve’s cheeks, runs his thumb across Steve’s bottom lip, cataloguing the moment until Steve impatiently sucks the finger into his mouth.   


It’s Tony’s turn to groan and he hikes Steve’s leg higher around his waist, grinding their growing erections together. He has thought about sex with Steve before, jerked off to vague fantasies, even had explicit dreams that left him so hard he could cut glass, but nothing compares to the reality of it, of feeling the softness of Steve’s mouth, the scratch of his five-o'clock shadow, how he tastes like coffee and the chocolate cream pie Clint made for dessert.   


He tips his head down and kisses him again, harder and firmer this time, pouring years of longing he didn’t know he was holding onto to into Steve’s mouth. Steve doesn’t resist, just snaps his hips and claws at the back of his shirt, little gasps of pleasure escaping his mouth.   


“Jesus Christ, Rogers” he mumbles, their lips millimeters apart. Steve moans his name in return, digging his nails into Tony’s back. “What do you want, Steve?” he asks. It’s a practical question as much as anything. He doesn’t know what Steve’s comfortable with, what they usually do, what Steve may not like. He won’t risk hurting him.

“Anything,” Steve says, kissing his way down Tony’s throat. “Just make me come, Tony.” 

He almost comes just from the need in Steve’s voice and kisses him roughly again, shoving his tongue into Steve’s mouth, fingers curling through the back of his hair, keeping him in place until Steve’s grinding so hard against him it has to be painful. 

“Anything, huh?” he says after they both pull away, gasping. He thinks about fucking Steve, opening him up on the sofa and being inside him, but dismisses the idea just as quickly. It’s not the time for that, not now. Steve only groans, grinding his erection harder against Tony, as if to double down on his statement. 

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he whispers. With quick fingers, he rucks up Steve’s shirt and sucks at his nipples until Steve’s squirming in pleasure, tugging lightly at Tony’s hair.   


“Too much?” Tony asks, pulling off, genuinely concerned.   


“I’m gonna come in my pants if you keep that up,” Steve gasps.

Tony smirks against Steve’s stomach and gives it a little nip. “Maybe some other time, but right now, I want you to come in my mouth.”   


Steve groans and flops back down, cursing as Tony moves down his belly, following the trail of soft, brown hair till it meets the border of Steve’s jeans. He takes his time there, nuzzling and licking at the boundary of his pubic hair until Steve lets out a low whine. There’s an unmistakable scent that he can only describe as  _ Steve _ , something that minutes ago he was unfamiliar with but now can’t imagine life without.   


“Fuck, Tony, come on,” Steve pleads, making sharp, aborative thrusts with his hips.   


He responds by opening his mouth against the bulge in Steve’s jeans, mouthing his erection through the denim, until Steve’s hands are fisted in Tony’s hair, the contact not nearly enough.   


Slowly, Tony unzips Steve’s pants down and pulls them half way down his thighs, deliberately leaving his boxers on. Before Steve can protest again, Tony cups his erection through the cotton, feeling the warmth and weight of it in his palm. With his thumb, he rubs at the wet spot at the tip of Steve’s dick, watching as his eyes slide shut in pleasure.   


“Oh, god,” he says, giving into it. “Tony, fuck.”   


Tony makes a noise of encouragement, his own dick aching at the sight of Steve sprawled out and half-naked, biting at his lower lip. “That’s it,” he says, cupping him firmly. “You’re being so good for me.” Still working his dick with one hand, Tony slides down on the sofa to get a better angle and swallows Steve’s erection through the fabric.

“Oh fuck, Tony.” Steve lets out a sharp gasp, hips bucking up against his will. Tony continues to work at his dick, spit soaking the cotton of Steve’s boxers until he’s a wet mess. Keeping one hand on Steve’s hip, he moves the other to gently cup Steve’s balls, rolling them lightly in his hand until Steve’s making desperate noises, rocking against Tony’s mouth, pulling at his hair. It’s slow and wet and good, and Tony would keep him like his forever if he could. 

“Tony,” Steve says his name over and over again, until Tony pulls off just long enough to remove Steve’s boxers, exposing his erection fully for the first time. He’s as big as Tony expected, cock long and hard, an almost painful color of red.   


“Look at you,” he mumbles to himself, tracing the line of Steve’s cock with the tip of his finger. He takes Steve in his hand and pumps him roughly a few times, making Steve cry out in pleasure. 

“Oh god, Tony, I’m not gonna last long,” he warns, rocking his body into Tony’s grasp. 

Leaning back down, Tony takes as much of Steve’s cock as he can into his mouth, feeling the tip brush against the back of his throat. He wraps his hand around the base and sucks until Steve’s twining his fingers through Tony’s hair in an almost painful grip. 

“Oh fuck,” he says, rudely snapping his hips into Tony’s mouth. Breathing through his nose, Tony wraps his hands around Steve’s ass, encouraging him to fuck his mouth. Steve moans again, long and painful, and arches his back, getting as deep as he can inside Tony’s mouth. 

“Tony, oh god,” Steve’s babbling now, focused only on the tight vacuum of heat of Tony’s mouth, fucking into him in a short, fractured rhythm. “Tony, Tony, I’m gonna come,” he warns, his voice shredded, eyes shut tight while his heels dig into the cushions. Arching up, he grips the back of Tony’s head and thrusts into his mouth again and again, finally coming down Tony’s throat with a sharp cry. Tony swallows what he can and lets the rest of it pool in his mouth and drip out while Steve makes weak, aborted motions with his hips.   


“Oh god, Tony,” he gasps, petting Tony’s face and hair, unable to stop the minute shifting of his hips. Tony licks at his dick, trailing his tongue along the sensitive head and sucking lightly, wanting to draw out every last bit of pleasure for Steve that he can. Steve groans again, spent.   


He watches as Steve comes down, stroking the exposed flesh of his thighs, noticing the almost pained expression on his face as his breathing settles. Keeping his gaze fixed on Steve, he thumbs open his own pants and takes himself in a firm grip, aching to come himself.   


Steve stirs. “Tony, let me.”

“Just stay there. Just like that,” he says. He places a firm hand on Steve’s chest, pushing him down, and begins to stroke himself with fast, hard jerks. 

“Open your mouth for me,” he says, his own voice ragged. He places a knee by Steve’s head, lining up his cock up with Steve’s lips. Steve does as he’s told, opening his mouth just wide enough for Tony to nudge the head of his dick in so Steve can suck.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he says. “Oh god, that’s perfect, Steve.” His mouth is hot and wet, a perfect swarm of heat and suction that almost makes Tony black out. Steve hums around his dick, levering up on an elbow, to get more of Tony into his mouth. Moaning, he cups the back of Steve’s head guiding his movements lightly. He’s already slick with precome and spit but he lets Steve suck a little longer, getting him nice and wet, until he’s precariously close to the edge. Holding Steve’s face with one hand, Tony pulls out and begins to stroke himself quickly, the head of his dick bumping against Steve’s red, swollen mouth.   


“You should see yourself, Steve,” he says. “You look incredible.” 

Steve moans softly, looking up at Tony with blue eyes full of need.

“Come for me, Tony. Come on, let me see it,” he says. He darts the tip of his tongue out, licking at Tony’s head. “Cover me with.”   


The words send Tony over the edge, he grips the back of Steve’s head tightly and comes in long, powerful spurts of pleasure that splash against Steve’s face, hitting his eyes and his lips and chin, dripping everywhere.   


“Steve” is all he manages to choke out, everything else stuck in his throat. While he strokes himself through his orgasm, Steve licks and sucks at his spent dick, rubbing the backs of his thighs with the slightest pressure. Spent, he slumps forward, running his fingers through the mess on Steve’s face and kissing him again, spit and come mixing in both their mouths.   


“You alright?” Tony asks after a minute, wiping Steve’s face clean with the edge of his shirt. Steve looks amused at the question, but nods and pulls Tony down on top of him. They stay on the couch for a little while, kissing and coming down, until it becomes clear Steve’s back can’t handle the awkward angle.   


“Come on, get off me,” Steve says. “We’re not going to fall asleep like this.”   


With difficulty and no amount of grace, Tony rolls off the couch, his pants loose around his hips, his dick barely concealed. Still, he’s a sight better than Steve, who’s lying there with his shirt tucked around his armpits, naked, covered in come. Tony offers him up a hand and they make their way to the bedroom, arm in arm.   


“God, if Peter only knew what we do on this couch,” Steve mumbles, making Tony laugh.   


In bed, they curl into each other, the desire from earlier tempered, but they need to touch still sharp. Tony falls asleep like that, a leg thrown over Steve’s thigh, breath moist against his temple. 

* * * 

They spend Sunday comfortable and listless, waking up late, making breakfast and leaving the dirty dishes in the sink. Tony tries not to be too obvious about it, but his eyes trail Steve as he putters around the apartment in loose fitting gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. This is all still too new to be taken for granted. With last night still fresh in his mind, he feels the urge to keep Steve within arms reach for the time being. By the time Peter comes home in the early afternoon, they haven’t managed to do much, aside from strip the bed and throw in a load of laundry.

“How was it?” Steve asks as Peter flops down on the couch next to them.   


“Fun,” he replies. “We went to MJ’s for a bit and then watched like 8 episodes of  _ The Walking Dead _ . Sorry, I’m way ahead of you now. Plus, I ate, like, 13 bags of these sour gummy candies. I’m addicted now.”   


“That sounds fun,” Tony says,“But is there any chance--any chance at all--that you and Ned went out on the town, found a bar that serves underage kids and got totally drunk?”   


Peter and Steve both look at him like he’s crazy.   


“If I’d wanted to do that, I’d have stayed here,” Peter says. “Ned’s parents are way stricter than you guys. I’m usually very poorly supervised.”   


“He’s got you there, Tony,” Steve laughs.   


“What? I’m just checking the kid’s story. Making sure it’s legit.”   


“I’m gonna finish my homework but can we open up the robotics kit later?” He sounds so excited Tony doesn’t regret a cent of the money they spent.

“Yeah, for sure. Homework first though.” He watches Peter disappear into his bedroom before turning to Steve. “Did you see that? How can you say no to that? Come on.” 

Steve just smiles and shakes his head, but Tony can tell he’s equally overcome. “When he asks why we can’t afford college I’ll tell him it’s because you blew his tution fund on an expensive hobby.”   


“Are you kidding? That kid’s definitely getting a free ride somewhere. We’re in the clear.” 

Steve laughs again and Tony realizes how long it’s been since he’s heard that sound and how much he liked being the one that caused it.   


True to his word, Tony spends the bulk of the day helping Peter build out the kit. They’ve worked together in the Stark Lab before, but it’s different now, huddled in Peter’s tiny bedroom over his ancient laptop. Steve’s gonna bitch at him for it, but next weekend they’re buying the kid a new one, for sure. They work till 7, when Steve hustles them out the door for dinner with Sam Wilson.

“Your man’s being weird again, Steve,” Sam says when Tony greets him with a hug that goes on for a little too long.   


“Well, he’s always like that,” Steve says, ‘but yeah, this weekend more than usual.”   


Throughout dinner, he tries to listen more than he talks, picking up details and clues about their lives that he may not have already surmised. He learns that Sam and Steve work together at the VA but go way back, to his Army days. It makes him wonder, with a flash of unreasonable jealousy, if they ever dated. He thinks about bringing it up on their walk back home but then Steve slips his fingers into Tony’s hand and he decides it’s not that important anyway. 

They’re home by 9:00 and splinter off into different parts of the apartment, Steve heading towards the kitchen and Peter to his bedroom.

“Peter, no TV tonight,” Steve calls. “I know you didn’t get any sleep at Ned’s and you have school tomorrow.” He turns to Tony and gives him a look, a look that only mean, you better _back me up on this._

_ Right. Parenting. I can do this. No sweat.   
_

“Lights out at 10 sharp, kid. No excuses,” Tony says, injecting his voice with the no nonsense tone his own dad used. Peter lets out a whine of protest, but Tony can tell it’s mostly perfunctory. The kid’s exhausted.   


“Check on him in a bit will you?” Steve says, pecking him on the cheek. He pulls out various containers from the fridge and Tony gathers lunches are getting made for the next day. The domestic ritual tugs at his heart, Steve’s care and love so constant and so evident, not just for Tony but for Peter too, for their family.   


As Steve makes sandwiches, Tony heads to the bedroom, thoughts of their perfect day of doing nothing running through in his head. He should be freaked out, frantic about getting back to his world of Iron Man and the Avengers, but the memory of Steve holding his hand on the walk home keeps popping into his head and he finds he doesn’t miss Stark Tower or the compound or his suits at all.

He feels lighter than he can ever remember, buzzed on this feeling of simplicity and contentment, and is thinking about seeing if Steve wants to make out later, when a sharp, stabbing pain shoots all the way up his back. Unlike the pain in his arm, which had paralyzed him briefly, this drops him to his knees. He grabs the edge of the bed and muffles a scream into the mattress, cursing as hot streaks of fire race up and down his spine. The pain comes in sharp little waves, rolling up from his lower back all the way to the base of his neck, making it feel like his muscles are being pulled and stretched apart inside his body. He curses again, gasping at the shear strength of the sensation, at the relentless way it beats his body. 

He’s not sure how long he stays there, on his knees hunched over the mattress, but, as suddenly as it had started, the pain stops. It leaves him on the floor, shaken and weak and even though he knows he should tell Steve, he prays that no one enters the room to see him like this. 

Finally, on legs that feel like jelly, he manages to stand up, and change out of his now sweat soaked clothes. He knows this isn’t right, the random pain that’s ripping up body. He knows it’s a reminder that he doesn’t belong here, but again, he pushes the thought of out of his mind, desperate to keep the fiction he has with Steve and Peter going for just a little bit longer.

_ It’s only been three days. I’m not ready to leave yet. I need more time.   
_

He’s just stepping out of the bedroom, catching his breath, when Steve intercepts him in the doorway, arms full of clean sheets. If Tony looks ashen or sweaty, Steve doesn’t notice.   


“Oh no you don’t,” he says, flinging a sheet at Tony’s face and pushing him back into the room. “I’m not making this bed alone. Here, grab a corner.” Smiling, Tony takes the sheets and helps make the damn bed.   


With more of his composure restored and when the last pillow has been fluffed to Steve’s liking, he swings by Peter’s room to make sure the lights are out. Only the small bedside lamp is on, Peter dozing under the covers with a Scientific American drooping from his hand. Tony clicks off the light and extracts the magazine from his grip, making Peter shift slightly in his sleep.   


“Uncle Tony?” he mumbles.   


“Yeah, kid, it’s just me,” he says, pulling the covers up around Peter’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep.”   


“I’m not sleepy,” Peter says, half-asleep. 

“OK, stay awake then.” Tony runs a hand through the kid’s hair, soothing him back down.   


“Uncle Tony?” he mumbles again, curling deeper under the covers.   


“Yeah I’m right here.”   


“Love you.”   


“Love you, too,” Tony whispers, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.   



	4. Chapter 4

The week passes quickly, the humdrum of routine broken up by the small variations of daily life.   


On Monday, Peter surprises them by trying his hand at dinner. It’s a simple pasta dish with garlic bread, some defrosted meatballs and a bag of iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing poured on top, but Steve gives him an enthusiastic high-five anyway. Tuesday, they meet at Peter’s school for Parents Night, where the moms, and some dads, keep stealing appraising glances at Steve.   


“Seriously, you could pick up any one of these hot, single New York moms,” Tony mutters as they navigate through a maze of 10th grade science projects.   


Steve gives him an annoyed frown. “Cut it out, Tony.”

“They are eyeing you like a piece of meat,” he says. “Next time, try to wear pants that don’t accentuate your perfect ass. Also, that shirt is  _ clinging _ to you. Do you have any clothes that don’t show off your biceps?”   


“You’re more embarrassing than the moms,” he hisses. “Stop it.”   


“These dads want a piece of you too,” Tony says, undeterred. “That one guy has followed you around from homeroom to now. He’s being discreet about it, but still, I’m on to him. Does he not see that we’re an item? Frankly, I’m a little offended. Here, put your arm around me or just grab my ass or something, so there’s no confusion.”

“Oh my god.” Steve turns away, mortified. “I’m leaving you at home next time.”   


“Ha, fat chance. My presence is literally the only thing keeping you from being mobbed.”   


Steve ignores him, focusing instead on Peter’s project that’s now in front of them. It’s an impressive, working model of a high-density solar lense.   


“This kid is so smart,” Steve says. “I have no idea what I’m even looking at here. How does he get these ideas?”   


“Not only is the idea great, but the execution is masterful,” Tony says, bursting with pride. “Instead of networking everything in a single array, he’s made interconnected, multiple arrays. It increases the frequency of the charge in about a fraction of the time.”

“Like I said, I have no idea what I’m looking at.”   


They’re bent over the display, examining Peter’s work when he bounds across the room. “Hey!” His smile is wide and contagious. “So, what do you think? I’ve been working on this after school, it’s too big to bring home.”   


“I am far too dumb to understand any of this,” Steve says, slinging an arm around the kid’s shoulders. “But Tony tells me it’s going to change the world some day, which I believe.”   


Peter beams.   


“It’s wonderful, Pete,” Tony says. “It really is. I couldn’t have designed it better myself.”

His smile grows impossibly wider at Tony’s brief burst of praise.   


“I mean, it’s not perfect,” he demures. “Not totally. But all the tests I’ve done, it’s worked pretty well.”   


“No, it is perfect,” Tony says, wrapping an arm around his other shoulder. “You did great. I’m proud of you, kid.”   


As they stand there, a girl with dark hair and big eyes snaps their photo. “For the yearbook,” she trills. As she walks away, she grabs Peter’s hand, whispering, “your dad’s like, sooooo cute.” 

To Tony’s never ending delight, Steve blushes furiously.   


By Wednesday, Tony expects to be bored by the tedium of a 9-to-5 job and evenings at home, but each moment with Steve and Peter lulls any restlessness he feels, their warmth and companionship a thing he craves but can’t quite name.   


_This is my reward_ , he thinks as he and Steve lie in bed that night, sweaty and spent. He strips off his t-shirt and uses it to wipe the come coating both their stomachs. Pushing aside thoughts of why he shouldn’t be here, he tucks Steve’s softening erection back into his boxers and kisses him deeply. It was sweet, almost chaste, parental love making, both of them muffling their groans as they used their hands to get each other off. 

_ We’ve done our time,  _ he thinks, brushing his fingers along Steve’s bare back.  _ We deserve this. At least for a little while.   
_

He’s enjoying playing house, so much so that, when Steve texts mid-afternoon on Thursday to say he won’t be home for dinner, he feels a pang of disappointment.   


_ Sure _ , he texts back.  _ everything okay?   
_

Steve’s  _ fine _ doesn’t fill him with much confidence.   


“Do not try to cook,” Rhody warns him. “It will be a disaster for you, for Peter and for your kitchen. Trust me, take out is so much easier. And safer.”   


“I’m offended that you think so poorly of my ability to adapt to new situations,” Tony says, swinging around in his office chair. They’re sharing lunch, sandwiches from across the street. 

“I’m just speaking from experience. Remember that time in Bahrain when everything shut down by sunset and you thought it would be a good idea to try to make chicken soup because you were hungover and wanted, I quote, ‘ _ something with salt and broth. _ ’”   


He remembers that night too. He and Rhody had been out there for an under-the-radar arms conference in his memory. It was over a decade ago, if not more.   


“Yeah, that was a disaster,” he laughs. “Though, in my defense, I was really hungover.” 

“So, so hungover.”

The delivery of a late shipment keeps him at the garage longer than usual that night, so he rushes to pick up takeout on his way home. Green curry for him, pad thai for Peter, plus spring rolls and mango with sticky rice. He’s handing over his credit card when it happens again, the sharp, sudden, paralyzation of his arm. He’d gone three days without an incident, but here it is again, agony ripping across the right side of his body, making him drop his wallet and credit card, freaking out the guy at the counter. His whole body seems to vibrate in rebellion as he tries to flex his fingers, get them to obey any command. This time though, rather than collapsing on the ground, Tony’s able to breath through the pain, telling himself it will end soon. 

When it does finally dissipate, he’s less shaky than before, but the panicked proprietors of the restaurant make him sit down anyway, plying him with water and massaging his right arm until he’s more annoyed than in pain. By the time he finally rushes through the door, Peter’s cranky and hungry.   


“You got Thai food? I hate Thai food,” Peter says as Tony starts unpacking containers.   


“How do you hate Thai food? Everyone loves Thai food.”   


“You say that every time and every time I tell you that I hate Thai food,” he snaps.

“It’s just noodles and chicken.” Tony’s own voice starts to take on an edge. “There’s nothing to hate about that.” 

“It has peanuts! I hate peanuts in food!” Peter slams the cutlery down on the table. They’re shouting at each other now, both of them going from annoyed to angry in a matter of seconds. 

“Look, there’s curry too.” Tony tries to remember that he’s the adult. “If you want that instead.”

“It smells like coconuts. I hate coconuts.”   


Clenching his jaw, Tony takes a deep breath and counts backwards from 10 before responding.   


“Fine,” he says. “How about pizza?” He extends a culinary olive branch. “Cheese, pepperoni, no peanuts.”   


“Whatever.” Peter abandons setting the table and marches off into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him for good measure. In the kitchen, Tony just stands there, bewildered at the sudden turn of events. It is incomprehensible to him how a disagreement over dinner has turned into slammed doors, but he grabs his wallet and walks down the block to get pizza, growing more annoyed with everyone by the minute. He’s annoyed at Steve, for working late, at Peter for not just sucking it up, but mostly at himself, for not knowing the kid hates Thai food. 

He comes back 20 minutes later, warm pie in his hands, only slightly less likely to murder the next person who crosses his path.   


“Pete?” he says, knocking on the kid’s door. “Dinner’s ready. For real this time. Come to the table.”   


He knocks again when Peter doesn’t respond.   


“Come on, it’s 8:30. You gotta eat something. Pizza or Thai food. Take your pick.”   


It takes a few minutes, but Peter eventually sulks into the kitchen, dropping into a chair next to him.   


“Here,” he says, placing a slice on a plate and sliding it over. “Eat.”   


They chew in silence, Peter still glaring daggers at the table, refusing to look Tony in the eye.   


“Look,” Tony says, breaking the stalemate. “I’m sorry I forgot you don’t like Thai food, ok? I should’ve asked what you wanted for dinner. That is on me and I am sorry.” It is as mature an apology as he can muster but he feels like taking it back when Peter still doesn’t look up from the table.

“You’re being overly dramatic, don’t you think?” Tony says, his irritation on the rise again. “People miscommunicate about dinner all the time.”   


“It’s not just about dinner!” Peter shouts, throwing down his food. “You’re two hours late! You’re usually home by 6! You didn’t come home till almost 8!” There are little hitches in his breath as fights back angry tears. “You’re supposed to call if you’re going to be late, right? That’s the rule!”   


_ Oh fuck.   
_

Tony’s heart sinks.   


“I had no idea where you were!” Peter says. “I called you and Steve a million times and no one picked up.” He stares down at the table again, swiping angrily at the corners of his eyes.   


_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.   
_

“Oh Pete, I’m so sorry,” Tony says, cursing his own stupidity. He’d been dealing with shipments and takeout and a busted arm, oblivious to the phone in his jacket pocket buzzing like crazy. “The last thing I wanted to do was make you worry. I just lost track of time and forgot to call.”   


“You can’t do that!” he yells, breathing hard.   


“I know. I know. I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry.”   


The anger drained from his body, Peter slumps back into his chair and pushes at his food.   


“Pete,” he says quietly, laying a hand gently on his arm. “You have every right to be upset with me, ok? I would’ve lost my mind if I had no idea where you were for two hours.”   


“I thought something happened to you,” he mumbles, looking up at Tony out of the corner of his eye. “And that I was gonna be alone again.”   


Tony swallows past the lump in his throat. “That’s not gonna happen,” he says. He reaches over and pulls the boy into his arms, kissing the top of his head. “Not anymore, ok?”   


Peter nods against his shoulder and hugs him back tightly.   


He crushes the kid against him one final time, hoping to impart the depth of his remorse through touch, before eventually releasing his grip.   


“Come on,” he says. “Cold pizza’s not going to eat itself.” 

* * * 

After dinner, Peter heads to his room while Tony puts away the pizza and Thai food. Drained from the evening, he collapses on the couch and stares mindlessly at the TV, waiting for Steve to come home. It’s almost 10 and he hasn’t heard from him all evening.   


_ Peter’s right,  _ he thinks, flipping channels impatiently,  _ if you’re going to be this late, you call. That’s the rule!   
_

By 10:30, his annoyance has morphed into concern. He’s trying not to pace the apartment, having already called Steve twice, with no response.   


“Is Steve home yet?” Peter wanders out of his room, rubbing at his eyes.

“Hey, no, not yet, but he’s fine,” Tony says. “Just working late. Get some rest ok?” 

Peter doesn't look convinced but shuts his bedroom door anyway. Sighing, Tony drops down on the sofa and rests his head in his hands, worry running every other thought out of his head.   


_Steve’s fine_ , he tells himself. _He’s fine. He has to be fine._

How did he deal with this on missions, he wonders? They’d done some crazy shit, and never in all that time had he felt this out of control, this helpless. Now, without his suit, without any of his tech, there’s nothing he can do but wait. And worry. 

After what feels like an eternity, his phone buzzes. It’s Sam Wilson.   


“Sam?”   


“Tony, hey.” 

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice even. “Where’s Steve? Is he with you?” 

“He was, but he’s on his way home now,” Samy says. “Look, he’s fine, but I just wanted to call, give you a heads up.” 

“What happened? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s ok,” Sam says again, his words somehow doing very little to reassure Tony. “He’s fine. It’s just...he had a tough day, Tony. Go easy on him when he gets home, alright?”

“What does that mean, _ ‘he had a tough day’ _ ?” Tony says. “You’re not really giving me a lot to go on here, Sam. It’s 11:30 and he isn’t picking up his phone.”   


“I know, I know,” he says, his tone placating. “Just listen to be alright? However shitty your day has been, I can guarantee you his was worse. I know you’re mad, and I know you’re worried, and I know how you get when you’re mad and worried. This is why I’m calling you. To tell you to calm down. You can be a real dick sometimes and my friend doesn’t need that right now. ”   


Tony throws his hands up in frustration. “Jesus christ, I don’t even know what we’re talking about here. How can I be a dick about it? All I know is that I haven’t heard from him all day. What happened?” 

“It’s not for me to say,” Sam says, sounding apologetic. “Just don’t be too hard on him, arlight?”

He’s more confused than ever after he hangs up with Sam, but tries to be grateful that at least Steve hasn’t suffered some devastating mortal injury, that he isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. 

They’ve only been off the phone a handful of minutes when he hears the key in the lock. Mindful of Sam’s words, he swallows down his frustration as Steve walks into the apartment.   


“Hey,” he says, standing up from the sofa.   


“Hi.”   


Steve shuts the door softly behind him, conscientious as ever, trying not wake Peter. As he turns, Tony notices a heavy white gauze bandage wrapped across his right palm. The site of it makes his heart spike, but he pusehs down the urge to make Steve tell him about it right the fuck now. Instead, Tony walks into kitchen while Steve dutifully hangs up his coat.   


“You hungry?” he calls, feigning a casualness he doesn’t feel. “We have pizza and Thai food to choose from. It is a veritable buffet.”   


Steve shakes his head no.   


From the outside, Steve looks the same as when he’d left the house this morning, olive gray pants paired with a blue merino wool sweater, not a hair out of place. The emotional toll of the day shows up in the slump of his shoulders and the weariness of his gaze.   


As Tony watches from the kitchen, Steve stands, unmoving, with his hand against the closet door, like he might just change his mind and walk out again. Eventually, he drifts into the living room but doesn’t sit down, standing awkwardly between the sofas. Shutting the refrigerator door, Tony goes to him. 

“Steve?” he says quietly. “Where have you been?” 

Steve shakes head. “At Sam’s,” is all he offers.   


The answer perplexes Tony even more. “Why?”   


Steve meets his gaze, eyes pleading. “Can we not talk about it?” he asks. “Please.”   


Tony shakes his head, jaw clenching slightly. “No,” he says, keeping his voice low. “We can’t not talk about it. It’s late, you haven’t answered your phone for hours. I’m losing my mind here. I had no idea where you were. You gotta tell me what happened.”   


“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he says. “I really am.”   


“It’s alright,” Tony says, “But you gotta tell me what’s going on. You’re freaking me out.” 

“I’m fine, I promise,” he says, eyes wide and open and blue. “I just had a tough day at work is all.”   


“Did something happen?” Tony asks, panic building in his chest. He’s never seen Steve this closed off, this tired, this...empty. “To you? To Sam? To one of the vets?”

Steve looks at him again, jaw clenched tight, and shakes his head, not really answering Tony’s question. 

“Steve, I’m trying to be patient here. I really am. But you’re scaring the shit out of me right now.”

“I told you, I’m fine. I just freaked out a little at work,” is all he offers.   


“Alright,” Tony says, pushing for details. “What does that mean?” 

“Something happened and,” he shrugs his shoulders, sounding lost, “I kind of lost it.” 

The answer doesn’t clear anything up.   


“Did you hit someone? Lose your temper? Smash through a wall?” It doesn’t sound like something Steve would do, but maybe he doesn’t know Steve as well as he thought.   


“No, no, nothing like that.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t hurt anyone.” 

“Then what happened to your hand?” 

“Nothing,” he says, opening and closing his fist. “I just had to get a few stitches.”

“Wait,” Tony says, his brain catching up to Steve’s words. “A few stitches? Did you go to the hospital?”   


Steve’s lack of response is answer enough.   


“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tony’s voice rises a couple of octaves. Sam’s entreaties to stay calm fly right out of his mind. “You were in the hospital and you didn’t tell me?”   


“Calm down, Tony,” Steve says. “It’s nothing serious.”

“I don’t give a shit how serious it is,” he spits, anger and concern driving away all his intentions to be reasonable. “If you’re in the hospital, you call and tell your family. That’s the rule!”   


Steve glares at him. “Keep your voice down. Peter’s asleep.”

_Fuck._

“Tell me what this is about Steve,” he says, voice at a more reasonable volume but no less stern. “That’s all I’m asking.” 

“Did it ever occur to you that you constantly ask for too much?” Steve hisses. It’s his turn to lose his patience. “Everything is always about what you want, when you want, on your terms. You’re pushing too hard, Tony. I told you, I’m done talking about this.” 

“How can you be done talking about this?” he says. “We haven’t even started!”   


Steve glares at him again to lower his voice. 

“Look, I don’t think what I’m asking for is unreasonable,” he tries. “You’ve been MIA for hours, show up looking wrecked, with your hand all bandaged up. I think I deserve to know what happened.”

“And I’m telling you, I don’t want to talk about it.” Steve shakes his head, the look in his eyes begging Tony to just let it go, for once. Tony meets his gaze, unflinching, both of them worn thin by the events of the day. “Tony, please,” Steve says again, voice breaking. “Don’t push me on this. Not right now.” 

Any protest Tony might have made immediately dries up in his throat. “Ok,” he says, nodding ready to concede anything. “Fine. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He reaches out his hand and waits for Steve to take it. “Let’s just go to bed. It’s late and we’re both tired.” For a long second, Tony’s hand hangs in midair, before Steve grasps it tightly with his uninjured left palm.   


In their bedroom, Tony strips to his boxers and slides under the covers while Steve washes up. He flicks off the lamp so the only illumination comes from weak streetlights below. He shifts onto his elbow when Steve sits on his side of the bed, but doesn’t get under the covers.   


For a long moment, Tony watches the rise and fall of his back.   


“Do you want to be alone?” he asks, not unkindly. Steve’s shoulders are bunched up with tension and unnamed grief. “It’s fine if you do. I can sleep on the couch. Give you some space.”   


In the dim light, Tony can see Steve give a slight shake of his head. “No,” he says, his voice hoarse, making Tony wonder for the first time if he’s been crying. The thought sends a wave of heartache through him.   


“Come here,” he whispers, plucking at the back of Steve’s t-shirt. Steve turns and falls gratefully into the waiting cradle of his arms. “It’s alright,” Tony whispers, pulling him closer. Steve wraps his arms around Tony’s back, hiding his face in Tony’s neck. 

They lie there awake in the dark, silent and still, and Tony thinks about asking Steve what happened again, in the safety of their bed, but doesn’t dare risk it. Instead, he places a kiss along Steve’s temple, bringing their faces close together. Even in the darkness, Tony sees Steve’s eyes are sad and red-rimmed.   


“It’s ok,” Tony says softly, placing kisses along the side of his face. “You’re ok.”   


Steve squeezes his eyes shut tight, digging his fingers into Tony’s side. “I’m sorry,” he says again. 

“It’s ok,” Tony says, confused as to what Steve’s apologizing for. Being late, not calling, a host of other ills he knows nothing about. Rather than push, he runs a hand through Steve’s hair, and finds his mouth for a proper kiss. He licks softly at Steve’s mouth, keeping the kiss shallow and slow, tracing his fingertips lightly up and down Steve’s back. Tony kisses him with no intention of taking it further, hoping to relax Steve just enough so he falls asleep, but Steve opens wide for him, and pushes firmly against his mouth, deepening the kiss until Tony pulls away, breathless. 

“Steve…” he gasps, but he doesn’t get much further. Steve finds his mouth again, licking firmly while his hands hold Tony’s hips in place. He shifts them onto their sides and shoves a thigh between Tony’s legs, rocking against him, his intent clear.   


Alarmed by Steve’s sudden aggressiveness, Tony tugs lightly at his hair, separating their mouths.

“Whoa,” he says. He cups Steve’s face in his hands, searching his eyes. “Maybe we should pump the breaks, huh? It’s been a long day.”   


“Do you not want to?” Steve asks, working a bruise into the underside of his jaw. Tony tugs him back, making Steve meet his eyes again.   


“It’s not that,” he says. “You’re hurt. We should take it easy tonight.”   


“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve says, going back to his favorite spot on Tony’s neck. “I’ll do all the work.”   


“Steve,” he tries again, shifting his head away but Steve follows him with his mouth and Tony has no choice but to respond, reading the desperation and desire in the way Steve grips at his waist, pushes against his growing erection. 

When they pull away to take a breath, there’s a pool of need in Steve’s eyes so strong it makes Tony’s heart race.   


“Please,” Steve say, rocking against him. “I want this.”   


He hates the way that word comes out of Steve’s mouth right now. Like he’s actually saying  _ help. _   


“Are you sure?” Tony strokes his thumb in an arc under Steve’s eye, wondering if he should put a stop to this, make Steve talk to him instead.   


“Yes,” Steve nods and rolls onto his back, spreading his legs wider. “I want you to fuck me,’ he says.   


_ Jesus Christ. _

“Steve,” he says, running a hand up under his shirt, stroking along the firm plane of his stomach. “You’re not...We don’t have to,” he starts but Steve lets out a frustrated groan and pulls Tony on top of him.   


“Fuck me Tony. Please.” The words come out hot and wet along the shell of Tony’s ear, making his dick jump. He groans against Steve’s mouth, kissing him while he palms his own erection through his boxers. It could be a colossally bad idea, but Tony has no defenses against this, against the want in Steve’s eyes, the way Steve rubs against his thigh.   


Still, he tries to slow them down, and strips Steve of his shirt, kissing along his chest and sucking at his nipples, until his fingers are curled tightly in Tony’s hair and he’s whining with impatience.   


“Tony, come on,” he gasps as Tony’s mouth stops at the edge of his boxers. With one hand, Tony fists his own erection, getting harder as he watches Steve watch him. 

“Lift up for me,” he says. Steve obediently raises his hips, letting Tony yank off his boxers. Tony stares as he lies back down, taking in the sight of Steve Rogers, naked and hard, in front of him. Reaching between them, Tony pushes his thumb along Steve’s entrance, rubbing little circles until Steve’s hand are fisted in the sheets.   


“Fuck,” Steve gasps, ‘Just do it, Tony, come on.” 

Tony ignores his impatience but takes off his own boxers, freeing his erection. Steve moans at the site and tries to take Tony’s cock in his injured right hand. Tony stops him with a gentle touch on his wrist. “You’re gonna bust open those stitches,” he says, making Steve flop his hand back down in frustration. Stradling Steve’s spread legs, Tony leans down and captures Steve’s mouth in a kiss before fumbling for the lube. He guesses at the correct drawer and squeezes a little onto his palm, slicking up his cock till it’s shiny and wet. With still slick fingers, he begins to trace Steve’s hole, pushing in just the tips of his fingers until Steve’s writhing against the sheets, heels digging into the bed.   


“Tony,” he gasps, “Fuck, I’m ready, just do it.”   


He braces himself over Steve on one arm and kisses him, lining his cock up.   


“I’m so hard for you right now, feel that?” he says. He pushes the blunt head of his cock against Steve’s entrance, making them both groan. Steve grips Tony’s ass tighter with his good hand, urging him forward.   


“Not yet,” he says tapping the head of his dick against Steve’s entrance. “Gonna get you nice and slick for me first.”   


Steve’s protest dies in his mouth as Tony slicks up his fingers and circles Steve’s entrance, this time pushing one finger in first and then another, opening him up nice and wide.   


“You’re being so good for me,” he whispers, placing errant kisses anywhere he can reach, pumping his fingers in and out until Steve takes them without any friction at all.   


“Tony, I’m ready,” he whines, rocking back into Tony’s hand, desperate for more.   


Tony hums his agreement but doesn’t stop the movement of his hands and instead sucks the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth. Steve lets out a sharp cry, snapping his hips up into Tony’s mouth, holding him in place with his good hand.

“Fuck,” he hisses over and over again while Tony works him open and sucks his cock at the same time. “Tony,” he begs finally, “Want to feel you inside me, please.”   


He pulls off from Steve’s dick with a pop, and rubs at the V of Steve’s hips.   


“Ok,” he says, desperate himself. “Ok, Steve.”   


His mouth is a swollen, red mess, and he knows what he must look like. Taking himself in a firm grip, he lines up at Steve’s entrance, pushing the tip of his cock in slowly before pulling back out.   


“Tony, fuck, please,” Another whine as spreads his legs wider.

His own arousal roiling in the pit of his stomach, Tony pushes his cock in all the way and Steve takes him easily, his body practiced at receiving Tony. Tony shuts his eyes at the intensity of the sensation, his heart hammering wildly at the burst of heat and wetness, finally being inside Steve.   


“Oh god, baby, you feel so fucking good,” he moans, thrusting all the way inside. Steve shudders at the intrusion, groaning low and deep, and wraps his legs tighter and higher around Tony’s waist. He pushes forward, pulling as much of Tony inside him as he can. Tony never thought they’d fuck missionary style, the idea so quaint and old fashioned, but he can’t bear to not see Steve’s face right now. Steve begins to rock back into Tony, demanding movement, but Tony takes it slow, moving his hips in little spurts, his entire body awash in the sensation of being inside Steve.

“That feel good, baby,” he asks, sliding in and out of him slowly. 

Steve whines, his voice filled with an unnameable need. “Harder, Tony, please.”

Holding Steve’s hips in place, Tony thrusts into him hard, making Steve cry out and his cock jump.   


“Like that?”   


“Fuck, yes, like that. Do it again.”

He does it again. Snapping hard and fast into Steve, until he’s crying out, his good hand fisting the sheets, the nails of his other hand digging into Tony’s thigh. Tony builds up a steady pace, sweat dripping down his back. Steve’s leaking precome along his stomach and if Tony had the dexterity, he’d lean down and take a taste.   


“You’re gonna come just from this aren’t you? Me fucking you, without even touching yourself.”   


“Oh god, Tony, I can’t,” he gasps and tries to move his right hand to his dick before realizing it won’t do him any good. He groans in frustration as Tony continues to push into him. “Tony, I can’t, touch me.”   


Bracing himself on one hand, Tony reaches between their bodies and wraps a hand around Steve’s cock, jacking him in time with his thrusts. Steve lets out another cry that has Tony praying the noises don’t reach down the hall to Peter’s room.   


“Shhhh,” he whispers, kissing along Steve’s jaw. “God, you feel so good, Steve.”    
  


Steve wraps his hands around Tony’s back, squeezing his eyes shut against the pleasure.   


“Tony, please,” he babbles. “I don’t want to feel anything but you, please.”   


_ Fuck that fucking word again. _   


“I’m right here, baby,” he says speeding up the movements of his hand while keeping up a series of sharp, effective thrusts as Steve grinds back against him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m so close, don’t stop,” he gasps. 

  
“Oh god, come on, that’s it, you’re being so good for me, baby, come on, let me see it.”

Steve comes with a muffled cry, spilling in long, milky spurts all over his belly and Tony’s chest. He clamps down hard around Tony, digging his heels into the mattress as his orgams washes over him.   


“That’s it, baby,” he whispers, stroking him slowly, letting him ride out his orgasm. “Let it go, I’m right here, I got you.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut, trembling and captures Tony’s mouth in a sloppy kiss. Still buried inside Steve, Tony rubs at the come across Steve’s chest, tweaks his nipples, anything to draw out his pleasure. Steve floats for a while, his breath ragged but calming, while Tony pets him. He’s about to pull out, to finish himself off across Steve’s chest, but Steve grips his sweaty waist, holding him in place. 

“Come inside me,” he says, voice shredded.   


“Steve,” he protests, worried this has all already been too much.

“No, I want it,” he says, throwing his head back and wrapping his legs back around Tony’s waist, pulling him in. Tony kisses him hard before he can say  _ please _ one more goddamn time.   


He’d restrained himself as much as possible before, but he drives into Steve hard now, burying his face into Steve’s neck and focusing only on the hot wetness, the unbelievable tightness of being inside him. He fucks into him, over and over again, biting Steve’s shoulder, nuzzling his temple, feeling Steve’s arms wrap around him, nails digging into his back.   


“Fuck, that’s it, Tony,” he says, kissing whatever part of Tony he can reach, lips grazing his shoulder, the tip of his ear, along his cheek.   


“Is this what you wanted?” he says, snapping his hips, looking at Steve’s spent dick lying across his belly.   


Steve manages a nod. “I just want to feel you,” he gasps as Tony thrusts into him, shaking the bed. “Nothing else. Come inside me, Tony.”   


“Fuck,” he groans against Steve’s mouth, his rhythm going erratic. He feels out of control, taken over by this one need only and thrusts a final few times before he comes, spilling into Steve in long, seemingly endless spurts. The feeling travels through every cell of his body, imprinted in there forever. After a long moment of feeling untethered, Tony pulls in a shuddering breath, collapsing on top of Steve as his orgasm washes over him.   


He lays on top of him, while Steve strokes and kisses, their hips still moving against each other in slow thrusts. They lay like that, spent and exhausted, until Tony pulls out slowly, apologizing when Steve winces a little.   


With the fog of sex dissapaiting, Tony looks down at Steve with a little more clarity, wonders if he hurt him but can’t bring himself to ask.The room is still dark, but Tony can make out the blue of his eyes, still sad but thankfully less empty then when he’d first walked in the door this evening.   


“Steve,” he says. 

Steve shakes his head as if he knows what Tony’s going to ask. “I’m fine,” he says.   


Tony kisses his forehead, his eyebrow. “I love you,” he says.   


Steve’s face crumples at the words. He tries to hide, turning his face into his pillow. Tony lets him, stroking his hand along Steve’s face, wiping at the wetness escaping the corners of his eyes.   


“It’s ok,” he whispers, “You’re alright.”   


It is a momentary lapse and Steve regains his composure quickly, clearing his throat free of emotion. He blinks up through his tears, meeting Tony’s gaze. “I love you, too” he says with such clarity and conviction Tony knows he’ll never doubt it again.   



	5. Chapter 5

Tony doesn’t sleep. 

He lies there while Steve drifts off, staring up at the ceiling for how long he doesn’t know. There are still questions he doesn’t have an answer too, things he can’t easily push out of his mind, like the nasty gash on Steve’s hand, that haunted look in his eyes, or if he and Steve are destined to butt heads in whatever universe they share.   


Back in the Avenger world, he’d tried to get Steve to open up countless times, talk about his experiences in the war, even a little, to no real luck. He’d even mandated therapy at one point, an idea that went over as well he thought it would, which is to say not well at all. It was in Steve’s nature to be stoic and reserved, to be a pillar of strength for the team. He’d seen Steve swallow his emotions time and time again, letting others lean on him whenever they needed. Who Steve leaned on, Tony never really knew. Bucky, maybe.

Giving up on the idea of sleep altogether, Tony untangles himself from Steve’s embrace and slips out from under the covers, groping around for his boxers. Slipping them on, he heads out to the kitchen. A drink might be in order. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, Tony wanders to the front room, stopping in front of the small cluster of mismatched picture frames he’d noticed on his first day. He reaches for the one all the way in the back, the one of them collapsing into each other's arms in laughter. He examines it as he takes a sip.

“I think Bruce took that, like, 8 months after we started dating.” 

Tony turns at the sound of Steve’s voice behind him.   


“Or maybe a year,” Steve says, sitting down gingerly at the table. “I can’t remember exactly.” He scrubs a hand through his hair and rests his chin on palm, looking at Tony sideways. His face is cast in deep shadows, making him look tired and worn.   


“Can’t sleep?” Tony asks, sitting next to him.   


He shakes his head.   


“Me neither,” Tony says.   


Steve takes the picture frame from Tony’s hand and wipes off the dust with the hem of his t-shirt. He stares at it as if he too has no memory of it being taken. He lays it flat on the dining table before meeting Tony’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he says. “There’s no cell reception in the hospital. Sam wanted to, but I said no.” 

“Why?”   


“Because.” Steve pauses and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “You would’ve come down and I didn’t want you or Peter to see me like that.”   


“Like what? What happened, Steve?” Tony asks again. If Steve is cracking open the door, even a little, Tony’s going to walk through it. “Just tell me.”   


Steve stares at the table for long enough that Tony thinks he’s not going to speak. When he looks up again, his eyes and voice are both tired. “I lost it, Tony. I wasn’t lying about that.” 

  
Tony nods, waits for him to keep going. 

“I honestly don’t remember much,” he says. “I was in the kitchen one minute getting lunch and the next I was on the floor, blood running down my arm, shaking and screaming. All I could smell was this horrible, horrible stench of burning plastic.” He holds Tony’s eyes, his face a mixture of confusion and fear. “I was cutting an apple, Tony, that’s it. I have no idea what sparked it. Maybe the ding of the microwave, or the way the light hit the blade, but just, out of nowhere, I was gripping the knife by the blade so hard it ripped open my palm.”

Tony tries to keep his composure, his heart speeding up at the thought of Steve frantic and in pain, hand covered in blood. “Did you have a flashback?” he asks gently, waking up to the fact that Steve is probably one of the many soldiers suffering from PTSD.   


Steve clenches his jaw and nods, swallowing hard. “One minute I was in the kitchen, and then without warning, I was back out in the field. It’s like, I couldn’t even see what was in front of me. All I could hear was this loud shelling, people screaming and that awful, awful smell. it was just this feeling of danger everywhere. I couldn’t… I couldn’t control anything. ”   


Tony threads their fingers together, mindful of Steve’s stitches, and kisses the back of his hand. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

He looks up at Tony, eyes watery and words coming out in a rush. “The smell Tony, it’s the most rancid, foul thing you can imagine, I couldn’t get it out of my nose. I still feel like it’s on me. It’s everywhere. All the shit it brought up,” Steve shakes his head, blinking back tears. “I can’t have it my head, I can’t bring it here. That’s why I stayed at Sam’s for so long, Tony. I didn’t want to bring it home. Not to you and Peter.”   


“Steve,” he says gently.

“When this happens, it’s all I can feel and see and hear. The war. The bodies.” He squeezes Tony’s had tighter. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m trying to tell you as much as I can, but there are some things…”   


“It’s OK,” Tony cuts him off gently, his own throat burning at the effort all of this has already extracted from Steve. “You don’t have to. You’ll tell me if you’re ready.”   


Steve shakes his head, lost in his own memories again. “Sometimes I want to Tony, I really do, but…”   


“I know,” Tony says, pulling from his own flashbacks after the wormhole in New York. “Sometimes no one else needs to know how bad it was.”   


Steve gives him a shaky smile. “Sam took me to the hospital after, to get checked out and cleaned up. But, hospitals have protocols.”   


Tony nods, beginning to understand.   


“Anyone with a wound like that, a self-inflicted knife wound, it’s considered self-harm, and that means…”   


“A psych eval,” Tony finishes. “Restraints. Mandatory check-in for a minimum of three hours.”

Steve nods. “I wasn’t trying to hurt myself Tony, you have to know that. I begged Sam not to call you. You don’t need to see me that way,” he says. “It’s humiliating.”   


“It shouldn’t be,” Tony says, stroking his thumb along Steve’s wrist. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Steve. You went through some awful shit. That’s not going to go away overnight.” _Or ever,_ he worries, thinking about New York again and the nights he still wakes up in a cold sweat, heart hammering with panic and fear.

“I know that,” he says. “Logically, I know that.” He squeezes Tony’s hand again, hard enough that Tony worries his stitches are going to pop. “But my brain is having a lot of problems right now figuring out what’s safe and what isn’t.”   


“You’re safe here,” Tony says, tipping Steve’s face up to meet his eyes. “With me. With Peter.” 

Steve nods but shifts his gaze away from Tony.   


“I’m sorry” he says. “I”m sorry, I made you worry. But the thought of bringing all this,” he taps at his head, “home to you..I couldn’t. I didn’t want that.”   


“Baby,” Tony whispers, wrapping an arm around him. Steve presses his face into Tony’s shoulder.   


“You don’t have to go through this alone” Tony says against his ear. And then, swallowing whatever’s left of his pride, “If you can’t talk to me, talk to Sam. Talk to Nat. Talk to Bucky.”   


Steve pulls away at the mention of Barnes’ name, but he doesn’t say anything.   


“No, I need you to know,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”   


Tony tilts his head forward, resting it against Steve’s forehead. An awful pang of regret surges through him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.” He’s not sure who he’s talking to now, the Steve in his arms of the one across space and time.

Steve takes their still entwined hands and brings them up to his lips. For a moment, they both stare down at the picture frame, the younger, more carefree versions of themselves staring up at them. 

“Come back to bed with me?” Steve asks. “It’s late.” Tony nods and pushes back his chair.   


“Come on,” he says, tugging at Steve’s hand. “I’ll even let you sleep in the wet spot.” 

* * *

“Stay home today.” 

The only thing Tony can reliably do in the kitchen is make coffee, so that’s what he does. It’s still early, barely 7, but Steve has already been out for his morning run. Tony had woken up 30 minutes ago to an empty bed, the other side already cold.   


“There’s a ton of paperwork that has to get done, Tony. I can’t just take a day off because I’m tired.”   


“It can wait till Monday,” Tony tries to convince him. “You barely slept, and, as OK as you’re pretending to be right now, I know you’re not. Don’t pretend like everything’s normal. It’s not. Everything fucking sucks.” 

“What fucking sucks?” Peter asks, padding into the room. He’s still disheveled with sleep, hair sticking up wildly.   


“Peter, don’t use that word,” Steve frowns.   


“I’m just saying what Uncle Tony said,” he protests. “What sucks?”   


“Nothing sucks. Get ready for school or I’m going to hop in the shower before you.”   


“It’s definitely not nothing.” He eyes them both skeptically. “What happened? Why did you come home so late last night?” His eyes fall on the bandage on Steve’s hand. “What happened to your hand?”   


There’s more than a hint of concern in his eyes and he looks scared, as if the resulting answer could impact his life forever. It occurs to Tony that maybe they’re not the only ones who slept badly last night.

“I cut my hand at work, kid. It’s nothing,” Steve dismisses him with a wave.   


“How come you didn’t answer your phone? I called you a million times.”   


Sighing, Steve puts down his coffee cup. “There’s no cell service in the hospital, alright? It was hard to get away.”   


“You were in the hospital?” he says,eyes getting wider. Tony mentally high-fives the kid for the outrage in his voice. 

“Look,” he says, flexing his hand. “I’m fine. Just a few stitches. Hardly worth bothering anyone over.”   


Peter doesn’t look like he buys it for a second but lets it go after a moment.   


“Are you ok?” he asks.   


Steve smiles, his throat closing up at Peter’s honest concern. “Yeah, I’m alright,” he lies.

Peter glances at Tony, as if seeking confirmation, but must not like what he sees. He crosses the room and surprises Steve with a hug.

“Hey, it’s OK, Pete. I’m alright,” he says, squeezing the boy back.   


“Did you hurt yourself on purpose?” Peter asks, voice muffled against Steve’s chest.

“What?” Steve pulls him away and grips him firmly by the shoulders, looking directly into his eyes. Tony feels his stomach drop. “No. Peter, I would never hurt myself on purpose. That’s not what happened.”   


Peter shrugs. “I know I’m only 15 but I’m not an idiot,” he says. “I know the statistics. Soldiers commit suicide all the time.”   


“That’s not…I would never...” Steve trails off, stunned that Peter would have that worry about him. He looks to Tony for help.   


“Pete,” Tony says, crossing towards both of them. “You don’t have to worry about that. It’s a nasty cut is all. I swear, he’s alright.”   


He wonders how much they should tell Peter about the flashback and the restraints and decides it’s nothing he needs to know right now. Steve pulls the boy back into his arms and drops a kiss onto his head. Closing his eyes briefly he buries his nose in Peter’s curls. Tony’s heart clenches at the scene, flooded with love for the both of them.   


They hold onto each other for a bit, until Steve gently pulls away. “Come on, one of us has to grab a shower,” he says.

As Peter heads off into the bathroom, Steve slumps wearily onto the table, hiding his face in his hands.   


“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck fuck fuck.”   


“Yeah,” Tony says. 

He turns to Tony. “You know I would never…”   


“I know,” Tony says. “It’s good to hear you say it, but I know. But the kid, he reads. He sees what’s happening in the news. Plus, I think I fucked up too, last night.”   


“What?” Steve gives him a puzzled look.   


“You’re not the only one who didn’t answer his phone,” Tony admits sheepishly. “I ended up working late and then had to get dinner…” he skips the part about his mysteriously paralyzed right hand. “I just forgot to call him. He was a wreck by the time I got home. He couldn’t reach either us.”   


“Tony…” he looks as disappointed in Tony as Tony is in himself.   


“I know, I know,” he says. “Parenting fail.”

“We have to be better at this,” Steve says, shaking his head. “He doesn’t show it a lot anymore, but he still needs us.” 

“Well, we didn’t do him any favors last night, that’s for sure.”   


“No, no we did not.” He sighs again and they both sit there for awhile, feeling like jerks.   


In apology, Steve packs him a special lunch and they both hug him extra hard as he leaves for the day.   


* * *

Sam sends Steve home from work early, but not before firing off a furious text message to Tony asking him why he had let Steve come in at all.   


_ You try getting him to do something he doesn’t want to do,  _ he writes back. He adds an angry face emoji for good measure.   


The next time his phone buzzes around 3, it’s Peter. There’s no message, just a picture of Steve, still wearing his jacket and shoes, passed out on the couch. 

He calls it a day then, telling Pepper and Rhody he’s leaving.

“Man, it’s October and you’re taking a summer Friday? Must be nice to be the boss,” Rhody teases. He slaps Tony on the back as he’s leaving though and tells him to give Steve a hug from him.   


“Not an easy thing he’s going through,” he says. “Tell him I’m here if he wants to talk.”   


Tony nods, remembering that Rhody is a lifelong soldier too.   


When he walks into the apartment 20 minutes later, Steve’s still on the sofa in his jacket, though Peter has lovingly taken off his shoes. Peter’s working at the kitchen table, TV on mute. He sits in a warm patch of late afternoon sunlight that makes his brown hair look almost gold. They share a smile as Peter looks up, and knows they’re both feeling the same thing. Relief that all three of them, warm and safe are home together.   


* * *

Exhausted from the week, they don’t really leave the apartment all weekend. They cook, order take out, watch TV, do laundry, nap on the couch, fight over whose turn it is to clean the bathroom. Peter and Tony spend all of Sunday afternoon designing upgrades for his science project while Steve goes for a long run and makes a complicated dinner. 

And with each minute that passes Tony becomes more intertwined in this life, the Steve and Peter here merging almost seamlessly with the two he left behind. Still, he knows his time with them is getting shorter, that he’s ignored the nature of his predicament for too long and nothing good can come of it.   


As the sun slips under the horizon on Sunday evening, Tony’s anxiety builds. he knows the clock on his good fortune is running out. He’s lingered here, wherever here is, inside a spell, an alternate universe, some insanely realistic artificial intelligence experiment, for too long and yet, he’s not ready to leave, he’s not ready to look for a way out.   


It’s the best weekend Tony can remember having since last weekend, humdrum by any stretch of the imagination, but perfect in its simplicity. As Steve drops down next to him on the sofa on Sunday night, his body carelessly invading Tony’s personal space, he wonders for the first time, _what if I just stayed_. 


	6. Chapter 6

On Monday, things get bad. 

He wakes up tired, his body aching with a pain that lingers over breakfast. It’s a pain that’s evident in the shuffle of his feet as he heads to shower, causing him to wince as he buttons up his shirt. It is an unwelcome reminder that whatever Tony’s doing here, in this world, it has an expiration date.   


“Maybe you should stay home.” Steve’s had his keys in hands for a few minutes now, but he keeps hovering by the bedroom door, watching as Tony step into his pants.   


“You know, I don’t mind it when you watch me take my pants off, Steve, but it’s creepy when you watch me put them on.”   


“Oh ew, can you guys not talk like that when I’m around,” Peter says, rushing past their bedroom.

“Sex is normal and healthy, Peter!” Tony shouts after him, as he covers his ears with his hands.   


“You’re scaring him for life, you know that, right?” Steve laughs. 

“Please, it’s a rite of passage to be grossed out at the thought of your parents having sex.”   


“Indeed.” Steve kisses him goodbye as Tony just processes the words that thoughtless fell out of his mouth.   


_ Parents. Good Lord. Does he really think of himself as Peter’s parent?   
_

The thought sticks with him as he makes it to work, aware he’s gotten too close to both Peter and Steve, allowed himself to fall too deep into a world he knows he has no rightful place in. 

“I’m just saying, an Epsom salt bath will do wonders for you,” Pepper says, taking in his awkward gait. “Listen to me, don’t listen to me, whatever.” As she walks away, Tony sees her tap something on her phone, and knows without a doubt she’s already texted the idea to Steve.   


Later, as he’s lying in the ER, he’ll try to run through the timeline of the day, what happened next, to try to pinpoint the exact moment he knew this carefully constructed reality would be falling apart. In the end, it’s the brief moment, between when the pain starts and when Pepper turns back around to tell him something, that Tony feels like the world around him is receding, like he’s in a cartoon time warp, everything blurring and stretching out away from him.   


The world snaps back into place and with it, his right side turns to fire, pain shooting up along his leg and torso till it paralyzes him. He falls to the floor, smashing into tools on his way down, his body unresponsive, a shrill ringing in his ears. From a great distance it feels like, he can hear Rhody shouting his name, but he’s unable to respond. He feels like he’s being attacked from the inside, a thousand fire ants crawling through his muscles, biting and stinging without mercy.   


He might be screaming, he can’t tell, but by the look on Rhody’s face, the noises he’s making are terrifying. They turn him onto his side and now Pepper is here, he can see her fashionable heels as she kneels next to him, cradling his head. 

“Tony? Tony can you hear me?” There’s an edge of hysteria in her voice, and he tries again to respond. He works his throat but nothing comes out. The harder he tries the worse it gets. The pain seems to last forever, bouncing around his body and finally, Tony just closes his eyes and gives in. 

* * * 

He’s still on the shop floor when he wakes up, Pepper and Rhody wide-eyed and anxious, hovering over him.   


“Tony? Oh my god, Tony are you ok? Can you hear me.” Pepper’s voice is breathless, her hands gently framing his face.   


“Pepper, I’m fine,” he says. Or at least that’s what he means to say. It comes out more like,  _ ppppr mfun,  _ a string of consonants with nothing else attached.   


“Rhody! Rhody! He’s awake.”   


They make a fuss over him, demand he stay down until the ambulance gets here, press a compress to the cut across his forehead. By now the pain has subsided, but he feels weak as if he’s just been ill, unable to really lift his head. 

“I’m fine,” he tries again, shifting to sit up but doesn’t make it far.    


“Tony, stay put,” Rhody snaps. Pepper cradles his head in her lap, tracing her fingers over his hair, her touch welcome and familiar. 

“What the hell happened?” Rhody asks. “I turned around and you were screaming on the floor.” 

  
“I honestly don’t know,” he mumbles. He takes another shot at sitting up and is more successful this time. “It’s been happening on and off for the past few days, I can’t figure out what’s wrong.”    


He should have lied, feigned surprise at his own breakdown, but the truth is that it feels good to tell someone.   


“It’s been happening for _ a few days _ ?!” Pepper’s not one to take this kind of news well. She’s immediately up, grabbing for phone.   


“Don’t tell Steve,” he says, making a swipe at her arm, but she’s too far away.   


“Oh, that ship has already sailed. He’s going to meet us at the hospital.”   


“Come on guys, I’m fine, it’s just a muscle spasm,” he says.   


“Tony, you were out cold for 8 and a half minutes. I timed it,” Rhody says, his voice a mixture of annoyance and concern. As he’s talking, the wail of sirens grows louder.   


Tony sighs. This is going to end so badly, he already knows it. 

* * * 

They beat Steve to the hospital, but not by much. 

A nurse, dark hair, beautiful, wraps a blood pressure cuff around him, chatting animatedly while Rhody and Pepper hover outside the curtained off area. The emergency room is empty for a Monday afternoon, only a handful of beds occupied around him.   


“The last name is Stark. S-T-A-R-K. Well, if he’s here and he’s been admitted, I don’t see why I can’t go see him.” Steve’s voice, polite but losing patience, reaches him from the far end of the hallway.   


“Steve, Steve. We’re back here,” Pepper’s voice carries lightly and her heels click at a brisk pace down the hall as she rushes off to grab him.   


Tony closes his eyes, bracing himself for the onslaught of concern and admonishment. The nurse, her name tag says Teri, gives him a wink.   


“Sounds like someone’s worried sick about you, you lucky thing.” Her voice has a soft, musical lilt. “I bet he’s handsome as all get out, too.”   


“That he is,” Tony mumbles. “Seriously, how long can you keep me here? He should calm down in two or three days, tops.”   


She laughs as she unwraps the cuff and sticks a thermometer in his mouth. “So far you’re right as rain, aside from that big bump on your brain. Think that’s going to need a couple of stitches.” 

He groans as Teri removes the thermometer and writes down his perfectly normal temperature.   


“They’ll be around to see you shortly, just sit tight. Push that little red button on the bed if you feel faint again or in any pain,” she says, pulling back the curtain. As she readies to leave, Steve walks towards them, long strides eating up the hallway, his brow already creased with worry. 

Teri turns to him slyly, giving him a subtle, appreciative wink on her way out. “Looks like I was right. Handsome isn’t he?”   


Tony groans but she’s right. Steve looks even hotter when he’s pissed.   


“I’m fine, I swear, I’m totally fine,” Tony calls before Steve’s even fully within hearing range.

“What the hell happened? Are you OK?” His voice is clipped, calm on the surface, but with an undercurrent of worry. When Tony glances down, he notices Steve’s left hand trembling slightly. From the adrenaline, he guesses.   


There’s a screech of metal rings as Pepper pulls the curtain shut to give them at least the illusion of privacy. The three of them each take a side around him.   


“Nothing happened. I had a muscle spasm and these two overreacted,” he says.   


Steve ignores him and turns to Rhody for an explanation that isn’t obviously bullshit. 

“He fell,” Rhody says. “He just collapsed. One minute he was walking towards me, the next he was convulsing on the shop floor. He cracked his head open along the way. It wasn’t...it wasn’t normal.”   


Pepper, still pale, backs him up. “Tony, you were out cold for five minutes. It wasn’t just a muscle spasm,” she says softly, brushing her hand along his shoulder.   


“I tripped and knocked myself out! That’s it. It’s more embarrassing than anything else, really. “   


“Are you ok?” Steve asks again, his jaw working.   


“I’m fine. I swear,” Tony says, which is not a total lie. Physically he does feel fine, but the pit in his stomach reminds him that sooner rather than later, his time here might end.   


They stare at each other for a beat, the hum of the hospital filling the silence.   


“Has this happened before?”   


Tony sighs and looks down at his hands. He knows Rhody told Steve, but thinks about saying no just the same. Already the look of betrayal on Steve’s face is too much.   


“Come on, Pepper. Let’s get some coffee,” Rhody says, quietly excusing them from the situation. Steve watches as they pull the curtain shut behind him.   


“Before you get too bent out of shape,” Tony starts, “I’d just like to point out that when you were in the ER like, two days ago, and didn’t call me, I was actually pretty cool about it.”   


Steve ignores him. “This happened before and you didn’t tell me?” he asks again. “Are you just not telling me things now?” He’s trying to keep his voice down, but it’s getting away from him. 

“I just didn’t think it was a big deal,” Tony lies. “I’ve gotten a couple of random muscle spasms. It’s nothing, really. “

“It’s nothing?” Steve asks, incredulous. Steve’s never been much of a yeller. Tony can shout with the best of them, but Steve’s voice gets low and hard. “Pepper says you were screaming and it’s still nothing? Tony, are you fucking kidding me. What are you not telling me.”   


“This is like deja vu you know that, right?” he says. “Where have I heard those words before? Oh, yeah, from me, to you, only a few days ago.”   


“It’s not the same thing and you know it,” Steve says.   


“It is. It is the same thing. I did not want to worry you. I did not want to drag whatever this is into our lives. So calm down.”   


“I will not fucking calm down,” he says, hissing out the words. “God damn it, Tony. Are you sick? Have you just been feeling awful and not telling me?”   


“I’m not…” he starts to say “sick” but the look on Steve’s face shuts him up. Steve’s breathing hard, hands on his hips and he looks like Tony felt a couple of nights ago, worried sick about the person he loved most in the world.   


“Tony?”   


He thinks about telling Steve the truth. _I think my body is trying to send me back to where I’m originally supposed to be._ But if he only has so much time left, he’s not going to waste it trying to convince everyone he’s not crazy. 

“I just...you’ve been through a lot over the past week,” he says, reaching out his hand. “It didn’t feel like you needed another thing to worry about.”   


Steve shuts his eyes and sits at the edge of the bed, wrapping Tony’s hand in his.   


“What happened?” he asks.   


“My right side went numb,” Tony says, keeping his voice neutral. “It made me fall down and that’s when I knocked open my head. Honestly, I don’t remember the screaming. At all. But I’m fine now. I promise.” He brings their hands up to his lips, kissing the back of Steve’s hand.   


“And before?”   


“The same thing, but in much smaller doses. My arm just tingles sometimes. It’s only happened a couple of times. It’s just a muscle spasm.”   


He is a liar. There’s no point in telling Steve,  _ these are phantom pains because I’m not really supposed to be here, with you, like this.   
_

“You sure you’re OK?” Steve reaches over, carding his fingers lightly through Tony’s hair, tracing the curve of his eyebrow with his thumb. He’s wearing one of his many soft, button down shirts and Tony wants to rest his head against that chest so badly.   


He nods. “I’m fine, baby.”   


“You scared the shit out of me,” Steve says, looking down at their intertwined fingers, eyes still anxious and scared. Tony gives his hand a little squeeze and brushes his thumb along the back of Steve’s knuckles. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”   


The words cut him to the quick, squeezing his chest.   


_ I don’t belong here,  _ he thinks,  _ but how can I make myself leave?  _

* * * 

It takes hours, but the doctors eventually discharge him with a clean bill of health and instructions to come back in a couple of weeks for an MRI. Instead of the subway, they take a cab, arriving home when it’s already well past dark. They are, both of them, tired, hungry and slightly fed up, the tedium of hospital paperwork and rush hour commuting testing their patience. For the first time, Tony wants some space, some time to be free of Steve’s worried gaze even for just a few moments. They take the stairs up in silence, Tony chafing when Steve hovers a hand by his elbow behind him for support. He bites his tongue to keep from snapping.   


“Uncle Tony? Steve?” Peter’s voice rings out before they’re even all the way through the door. After what happened last week, Steve had called Peter from the hospital every 30 minutes, but kept it light on the details. An accident at work, he said. Everything’s fine, but get yourself some dinner, we’ll be home late.   


“Hey kid,” he calls, kicking the door shut behind him, a habit he knows annoys Steve to no end. He’s exhausted but relieved to be home, the feeling of it so strong in his bones. Already, he finds himself less on edge, Peter’s voice restoring some of his equilibrium.   


Peter hurries to them, face small and pinched with worry. “Hi,” Tony says again, moving to take off his jacket. Before he has a chance to move, Peter’s wrapped around him, hugging him hard.

“Hey...hey..Peter, I’m fine,” he says, pulling him tighter. “It was just a fall, a muscle spasm, and I hit my head.” He exchanges a glance with Steve, both silently agreeing Peter doesn’t need to know anything else. Tony rubs his back lightly, his thumb stroking the back of Peter’s neck. “No major bumps or bruises, kid. The hospital just takes forever, that’s all. Everything’s fine. I’m here, ok? Everything’s fine.”   


What it must be like, to be this child. Who’s lost more adults he loves in the past few years than Tony’s had in his entire life. When Tony was this age, he’d walked around with the ignorance of youth, mortality not even a blip on his rader. Until he was 21, he’d taken for granted that parents were just always there, that  _ mom _ and  _ dad _ were immovable constants. He knows better now, learned it far too young himself, and aches with regret that Peter knows the feeling too.   


“Come on, I’m hungry,” he says after a minute, loosening his grip and placing a kiss on Peter’s temple. “Make me a grilled cheese if you’re so happy to see me.” 

* * *

In bed that night, they lie together, legs tangled. Steve curls around him, nose pressed into the still wet hair at the nape of his neck. As tedious and exhausting as the day had been,a little food and a hot shower had done wonders to help him regain his footing. He shifts slightly, and runs his fingertips lightly along Steve’s forearm, thinking about his body and pain and how much he would endure to stay here, like this, forever.   


How would he even get back, he wonders, to being Iron Man, to a world where superheroes are needed and real? There’s no clear answer, but he can’t ignore that for the past 11 days he hasn’t even tried to figure one out. 

The past several days had been an uncomplicated gift, and instead of being anxious to return to his real life, Tony had put thoughts of  _ why? _ and  _ how? _ out of his mind. He received this new reality like the benediction that it was, but today his body reminded him that the clock on this little fantasy, as deeply real as it felt, was running out.   


As he lies in bed, he thinks about the people waiting for him, back home. Wonders if Pepper and Bruce and Rhody are mad with worry. If Peter is pacing the floor somewhere, waiting for him to return. If anyone’s told Steve.   


With them in mind he reluctantly dislodges Steve’s arm and slips out of bed. Steve makes a soft grunt of protest, but doesn’t wake. For a moment, he stands there and watches the heavy rise and fall of Steve’s chest, resisting the urge to crawl back under the covers. He’s not strong enough to do what he knows has to with Steve, sleep warm and soft, nearby. That requires distance, so he walks through the apartment and braces himself by the kitchen sink, staring blankly out of the window. With regret, he tries to focus his thoughts on what he remembers before he woke up here. Things come to him in pieces. He remembers being in a car with Pepper, the memory much clearer than the last time he’d let his mind wander that far back in time. Happy’s at the wheel, all three of them chatting like friends. There’s a scotch in his hand, Pepper’s kicked off her shoes.   


_This was a good evening,_ he thinks letting his mind travel further down. Pepper hands him a tablet and as she turns, he can see her face break into a smile. She’s laughing at something Happy said. He struggles to recall the words, but can’t make anything out.

_Was it an accident? Did he get pulled into a portal? Thor’s rainbow bridge?_

The more he focuses, the clearer the night in question becomes, he can taste the scotch in the back of his throat, smell Pepper’s perfume. This time there’s something else too, an acrid smell in the air, something that sets his heart racing.   


“Tony?” Steve’s voice snaps him back into the room, a gasp of surprise leaving his mouth. “What are you doing?”   


“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, fumbling for a glass of water. “Couldn’t sleep so I was just…”  _ staring into space like an idiot?  _   


“You okay? Does anything hurt?”   


“No, no, I just went to get some water and spaced out is all. I’m fine.”   


Steve walks over to him, barefoot and half-asleep, a puzzled look on his face.   


“You’re being weird,” he says.   


“I know,” Tony smiles, wrapping his hands loosely around Steve’s waist, unable to resist him sleepy and disheveled. “I feel a little weird. Actually, I feel a  _ lot _ weird.”   


Steve grunts and tips his forehead to Tony’s, exhaling the smell of spearmint toothpaste.   


“You know, a few days ago, I was worried sick about you,” Tony says. “Now you’re worried sick about me. Peter, that poor kid, is worried sick about the both of us. It feels like a never ending cycle. I worry about you, you worry about me, we both worry about Peter.”   


“That’s what family is, Tony,” Steve yawns, eyes slipping shut. “You just worry about each other all the time.”   


“Well, that sounds like it sucks,” Tony says.   


“No, not really,” Steve sighs and rests his head on Tony’s shoulder. They stand there, together, in a kitchen flooded with moonlight. “It’s the greatest thing.”   



	7. Chapter 7

The next night, for the first time, he dreams. 

He is in the car, but they aren’t moving. Happy’s in the driver’s seat, Pepper next to him, her mouth open, mid-scream. A bright, white light takes up almost his entire field of vision, obscuring everything. The same acrid smell of smoke fills the air. He opens the door and walks out into the street, the sound of sirens shrieking all around him. With his heart racing, he brings his hand up as if he’s wearing his suit, but he’s not.   


He turns to see Pepper screaming at him, her face contorted in worry, Happy banging at the glass. There’s something behind him he senses, something large and terrifying, and if he could just make it back to the car, everything would be alright. He tries to run but the car suddenly feels miles away, and his feet are lead. He tries to pick his feet up, begs them to move but they stubbornly won’t obey. His ears are ringing from the noise, the smell and heat of whatever is behind him overwhelming and creeping up faster and faster behind him until he knows he won’t escape. 

* * *

“You were making super weird sounds in your sleep last night,” Steve says the next morning, bending down to spit out his toothpaste.   


“What? No, I wasn’t,” Tony balks. He reaches around Steve to grab his own toothbrush, knocking his razor into the trash can in the process. “Fuck. Seriously, Steve, when’s that new vanity happening?”

“You were. They were like weird moans, but not the sexy kind.” Steve reaches down and grabs Tony’s razor for him. “Did you have a bad dream or something?”

“Not that I can remember,” Tony lies. He had woken up from his nightmare covered in sweat, and with the certainty that what he saw wasn’t a dream, but his memory sharpening. 

“Well, it sounded intense either way.” Steve gives him a smirk and lifts his eyebrows suggestively. “Maybe it was a weird sex dream.”   


“Can you guys flirt outside the bathroom, please,” Peter barges in, shoving his way to the sink. “I’m gonna be late if I don’t leave in like 5 minutes.” He grabs his toothbrush and in doing so knocks Tony’s razor back into the trash can.

“Damn it,” Steve mutters forgetting about Tony’s sleep noises. “We’re getting a new vanity this weekend.”   


As he goes to work, Tony no longer has to concentrate to bring up the scene in the car, rather the memory plays tag with him throughout the day. While his hands stay busy, fixing cars, filling out paperwork, his mind wanders back to the street in New York, to Pepper’s panicked face, Happy’s furious banging. He should have stayed in the car, that he feels sure of. But he didn’t. Why?   


The acrid smell of smoke follows him home, and he pauses outside the door, his body aching with the pain of memory. He understands now why Steve had stayed at Sam’s so long only a few nights ago. Everything that’s in his head, he wants to keep as far away as possible from Steve and Peter.

He pulls away quickly from Steve’s hello kiss, feeling a sudden sense of infidelity. 

“You good?” Steve asks.   


Tony smiles. “Always.”   


For the first time since he woke up here, Tony feels the tug of the other side, the barrier between what’s in front of him, Steve making dinner, Peter talking a blue streak, and what he left, paper thin. He’s being pulled between two different worlds, one which promises pain and conflict, and one where Steve Rogers kisses him lightly on the shoulder as they pass each other in the bathroom.   


It’s not really much of a choice.   


By the time Tony slides into bed that night, Steve’s fast asleep. He scoots closer, spooning him from behind, his arms and legs already so familiar with Steve’s body. He’s allowed himself too much leeway, too much latitude, and let himself get wrapped up in a world that isn’t his, that he’s not sure he deserves. Yet, Tony can’t help but pull Steve flush against him, burying his nose in the nape of his neck, smelling sandalwood mixed with citrus.

He dreams again. It’s the same dream as the night before, but with small variations. Pepper tugs at his sleeve, Happy scrambles out of the car after him. He wakes up gasping, heart hammering in his chest, the smell of burning tar overpowering everything else. He flings off the covers and stares at the ceiling with a sense of gut wrenching certainty. There’s a sudden urgency thrumming through his veins, a sense of reckoning he had hoped would never come. Turning, Tony takes a long, last look at Steve, his face slack and peaceful sleep, and kisses his cheek. He untangles himself from the sheets and makes his way to the living room with the grim determination of a man facing what he knows has to be faced. 

There against the bank of windows, with his back turned towards Tony, stands a tall figure with slicked back black hair in a smartly tailored suit. He turns as Tony approaches.   


_ Loki.   
_

“Surprised to see me?” Loki gives him a devilish wink.   


_I should have known._

“What are you doing here?” Tony says, somehow not surprised at all to find him their living room, in the dead of night. “Is this all your doing?”   


Loki just smiles and folds his hands behind his back, glancing around the small apartment. “My, my, my. This is quite quaint, I must say. Absolutely charming. Though, not terribly surprising, is it? After all, what could a man of unlimited wealth and means want from life that money can’t buy? A darling little family, of course.”   


“Cut the dramatic spiel, Loki,” Tony says, “What the hell is going on? Why am I here?”

Loki ignores him, and begins to pace.   


“I mean it, I hadn’t known what to expect, but this, oh, this is just delightful,” he says. “The exceedingly dull life of a dutiful family man. Is that all your puny little mind could conjure up? A menial job and the comforts of domesticity?”   


Loki turns back towards the window, his eyes falling on the cluster of picture frames. “This little one,” he says, picking up a picture of Peter and Steve in matching Christmas pajamas, “He’s at least got a substantial intellect, but the Captain...well, he’s pleasant to look at least. I suppose that’s something.”   


“Don’t you dare touch that.” Tony wants to slap the photo of his hand. “I’m asking again, Loki. What am I doing here.”   


“Yes, I heard you before. A good question, and one that I’m not inclined to answer at the moment. It’s not really my place to say.”   


“Than why are you here?” he asks.   


“Frankly, I’m only here to curry favor with my brother,” Loki says, putting down the photo. “I’m also here to bring you back. You’ve been calling to me all day. When you start probbing your memory, that’s always a sign that your time is up.”   


“And where is here, exactly?” Tony asks, his stomach sinking at the thought.   


Loki just gives him a mysterious smile.   


“What if I told you I didn’t want to go back? What if I wanted to stay,” Tony says. Just a few feet down the hall, curled under blankets, fast asleep, are the two people in the world Tony knows he can’t live without. 

“Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me what you do,” Loki says, enjoying this all too much. “Stay, come with me, it’s none of my concern, really. But you already know your place is not here. Your body is already rebelling, and soon your mind will too.”

“Why should I believe you?” Tony asks. “Is all of this just some sick, twisted joke you created?”   


Loki laughs. “Oh, if only I had thought of something so delightful. But even I’m not this cruel. No, you’ll have to blame Dr. Banner and my brother for this one. All your friends, actually, were quite keen on it.” 

“You’re a goddamn liar,” he spits. No one he knows, no one who loves him would be cruel enough to let him have this, only to rip it away from him.   


“Hmmm, yes, that’s been established before but there are no falsehoods now. I’ve been sent to retrieve you, Mr. Stark. This is not the world you belong in, we both know that.” He moves closer and holds out his hand as Tony moves away, backing up against the sofa. “You’ll have to take my hand. Willingly. Those are the rules, I’m afraid.”   


Tony stares at the hand, outstretched before him. He thinks about Peter, the tremor in his voice when Tony had come home late, how tightly he’d hugged him the night he came back from the ER, and Steve, who’d fallen apart in his arms at the kitchen table, how his fingers dug into Tony’s back as they made love.   


_ I can’t.   
_

_ They need me.  _

The Peter and Steve he knows would never need him, not like this.   


“What’ll happen to them?” he asks.   


“They’re illusions.” Loki waves his hand dismissively. “They are not a part of your natural life.”

“Did I make this all up?” Tony asks in disbelief. Is this all some disturbing hallucination he fabricated in his mind?   


“No.” Loki’s eyes soften slightly at the look on Tony’s face, but his gaze remains steady. “But that doesn’t make it real.”   


“That’s not true. What’s happening here, these people, it’s real,” he says, his voice breaking. He would just have to shout Steve’s name, Peter’s name, and they both would come running and Loki would disappear. He could do it, it’s on the tip of his tongue, his body burning with the desire to stay put, to spend one more day with them, as a family. Waking up in Steve’s arms, fighting over the bathroom, sharing dinner, helping Peter with homework, that would be reward enough.

“This is not an unlimited offer Mr. Stark.” Loki’s hand is still outstretched.   


“What happens if I stay?” he asks, tears streaming down his face, the choice before him untenable.   


“You’ll never be able to go back to the reality you came from.” Loki takes a deep breath and beckons him forward. “You can come with me now, or die here. No second chances.”   


He thinks about Steve as he’d just left him, sprawled across the bed, shirt rucked up slightly, covers kicked half off. And Peter, curled into the far side of his mattress, arms tucked under his head. He feels the urge to run to them like a physical thing, to see them both one last time.   


They may be illusions to Loki, but they’re real to him.   


“Mr. Stark.” Loki steps closer, but his voice is soft. “If you stay here, you’ll live, but for how much longer I can’t be sure. Your mind will break, just like your body. Out there, the world will lose a protector, and your friends; my brother, Captain Rogers, the child, will lose someone they love dearly. Mr. Stark, they are waiting for you.”   


His heart aches at the mention of their names, knowing that though Steve and Peter are lying just feet away from him, he would forever be haunted by the ones he left behind. The choice he has to make is brutally, painfully clear. As much as he longs to stay here, in this small apartment with no dishwasher, he raises his hand.   


“I can not do this for you. It only works if you reach for me,” Loki says.   


“Will I remember this?” he asks, his chest heaving with grief at what he’s leaving behind. Tears stream down his face. “Will I remember any of it?”   


“Mr. Stark, the real tragedy is that you’ll never forget.”   


_ Oh, god, I’m so sorry, _ he thinks. _ I love you both so much.   
_

Overwhelmed with regret, Tony grabs Loki’s outstretched palm. The touch sends a spasm of pain through him, making him scream in agony. For a brief second he wonders if Loki’s fooled him, if this is just another bizarre trick, or if Steve will come running out of the bedroom. A bright, greenish light starts to overtake them and all around him the living room, the kitchen, start to disappear into darkness.   


He wants to cry out, tell Loki to stop, to pull away, but there’s no going back now. Loki tightens his hold as Tony strains to stay, tethered to what’s around him.   


“Don’t let go,” Loki says, his grip like a vice.   


The last thing Tony sees, before everything fades into darkness, is the faded photo of him and Steve, their faces frozen in joy.   



	8. Chapter 8

Bright white light and the soft hum of voices drag him into wakefulness.   


The first thing Tony notices is the pain, again. His body aches fiercely, every muscle screaming in protest even though he’s not doing anything more than lying down, at least he doesn’t think he is. His thoughts are muddled, fragments of words and ideas fly in and out of his brain. There are voices around him, familiar but he can’t place them.   


He should open his eyes. See where he is.   


With great effort, he blinks a few times, flinching at the brightness of the lights, letting out a groan of protest.   


“Tony?”   


_ Oh, that’s Pepper.  _ The name finally comes to him.   


“Bruce, Bruce I think he’s waking up.” There’s an urgency to her voice. Why is she so worried? He’s not going anywhere.   


“Tony? Tony, can you hear me?” He blinks at the sound of Banner’s voice, or tries too, the glare still too much for him to take.   


“Ok, it’s ok. Pepper, turn down the lights.” The room plunges into a manageable darkness, their faces coming into focus as they hover over his bed.   


He tires to speak, to ask what’s happening, but it only comes out as a weak gurgle. 

“Don’t try to talk yet, ok? We had to intubate you. It’s ok,” Bruce is babbling as he checks Tony’s vitals.   


“Hey,” Pepper leans in and takes his hand. He wants to squeeze back but the muscles in his fingers remain unresponsive. “Tony, can you hear me? Just try to nod if you can.”   


He manages a weak tilt of his head that sets Pepper crying.   


Something bad happened, that much he can piece together, and it sends a surge of hurt and guilt through him. Even in his muddled state, he feels the panic of loss. 

_ Something’s wrong. Something’s very, very wrong.  _

Pepper stays close to him, holding his hand and stroking his hair, while Bruce checks the machines around him. He can tell by the wall of frosted windows around him he’s not in a hospital, but in the medical wing of the compound. 

“What happened?” he tries to mumble, but the tube makes it impossible to talk. There are things he needs to know, pressing questions he wants to ask.   


He looks directly at Bruce, and sees a flash of worry pass over his face. “Everything’s okay now, you don’t have to worry,” he says. Bruce smiles and squeezes Tony’s other hand. “We’re fine, Tony. No one else got hurt.” 

He wants to ask more questions, figure out why he feels so heartbroken if no one else got hurt, but he keeps fading in and out of the room, can’t understand why Pepper keeps wiping at her eyes. Soon, there are more voices, but they all jumble together. Happy, Rhody, Nat all sounding like one. He struggles to stay awake, his eyelids heavy.

“It’s alright Tony, you can rest,” Rhody says, squeezing his leg. “You gotta get back up soon though. You’ve been taking it easy for too long. We missed you, man.”   


He manages a weak motion of his head, his eyelids drooping shut. The last thing he remembers hearing, just before he slips back under, is a deep, familiar voice cutting through the clatter around him.

“He’s awake? Can I see him?”   


_ Steve.  _

* * * 

He drifts in and out of consciousness for how long he doesn’t know, dropping in and out of moments, catching odd bits of conversation before being pulled back under.   


Bruce is there most often, along with Rhody and Pepper, Natasha and Clint too. They lean in and smile, squeeze his hand, pat his shoulder. At first, he stays awake for a few minutes, long enough for them to take the tube out of his throat, a thoroughly unpleasant experience he never wants to repeat.   


The next time he stays awake a little longer, while they check his vitals, ask him to wiggle his fingers and toes. See how far he can turn his head. He feels like shit, like his body’s been dropped from the top of Stark Tower, but things seem to be working fine. They keep the lights low, voices to a level that can only be described as soothing. He wants to tell everyone to speak up, stop pretending like he almost died, but it’s clear that’s what happened. He knows he almost died, came close enough that it stopped Natasha from laying into him over whatever dumb thing he did, caused Pepper to put aside any recriminations she may have over their failed relationship.   


He takes their poking and prodding mostly in silence, closes his eyes and feigns sleep when he senses their questions coming. He’s tired, too tired to pretend that he’s not dealing with his own private, crushing sense of loss. The sound of Steve’s voice had brought it all rushing back to him. The apartment in Queens, their legs tangled together in sleep, Peter beaming with pride at a compliment.   


That world will never be his again, he knows, yet he’s consumed with longing for something that might never have been his to ask for in the first place.   


“How is he?” Thor hovers in the doorway, whispering to Bruce. Even his whispers carry though, and Tony has no trouble making out his words.   


“Physically? He’s mostly fine,” Bruce says. “He’s not talking though, which makes me worry.”

With a sigh, Tony pushes down the well on longing inside him and adjusts the hospital bed so he’s sitting up somewhat. As much as he doesn’t want them, it’s time to get answers. 

“Bruce,” he says.   


They turn, surprised at the sound of his voice.   


“What happened?” Tony asks, his voice is clear and steady, to his surprise.  


Bruce swipes away the calculations he’s working on and takes a seat by Tony’s bed, pouring them both some water. He and Thor exchange a look.

“There was an explosion,” he says. “A freak gas leak in midtown, a few blocks from the old Stark Tower. With all the aliens and Ultrons we’ve fought, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He lifts the glass up to Tony’s lips, and helps him drink. “Happy says he pulled over and you ran towards the building instead of away from it. That was a fucking dumb move, Tony.” 

_ Well, that explains the dreams.   
_

He has no real clear memory of the explosion, doesn’t remember much more than he did before he woke up here, but it makes more sense now.   


Tony nods, taking in the information while completing an internal scan of his body.    


“No burns though?”   


“We had to work some miracles,” is all Bruce says.   


“How long have I been out?”   


“It’s been 8 days since you woke up, but, before then? Two weeks.”   


_ Jesus Christ.   
_

“How’d you get me back?”   


Bruce takes off his glasses and swipes at his eyes. “It’s complicated. I mean, it is and it isn’t complicated. There wasn’t a choice really, not for us.” He and Thor exchange another look, their eyes communicating volumes.  
  
“Tell me what happened.” He doesn’t want to know but he needs to know. Tony prods him gently, aware at the toll this has taken on everyone. “Bruce, I need to know.”    


“You died,” Thor say. He states it as a matter of fact, but the waver in his voice gives him away. “For almost 8 minutes. You lost all brain activity.”   


“Fuck.”   


“Yeah,” Bruce says. 

“Then how am I still here?” 8 minutes is a long time, too long to come back from. 

“Maybe we should wait till you get your strength back, to talk about it,” Bruce says.   


Tony shakes his head. He’s been hiding for too long. “Tell me. Please.”   


“It was a spell,” Thor says, hovering over Bruce’s chair and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Something only Loki could cast.”   


“Why?” he asks, baffled. Did they know what he would be seeing? What they would be asking of him to give it all up? “What kind of a spell?,” he asks. “To keep me alive?”   


“We had no choice, Stark,” Thor says. “I know you must be upset, but just listen. The spell, it’s called the Tree of Life spell in Asgardian. It’s a spell of last resort. There were no other options.”

“Tony, you died,” Bruce repeats. “You were dead. We were sure we were going to lose you.”   


“The magic that Loki conjured, It’s a type of spell that’s rarely used in Asgard because it’s so powerful,” Thor says. “Some never make their way back.”   


“Wait, wait,” Tony says, “Instead of just sedating me you sent me on some fucking magical hallucination? What? You thought it would be a good time to fuck with my subconscious?”   


He has no idea if they know what he saw, how real it was for him. How the thought of not having it again rips him apart.   


“Tony no, that’s not it. I, we, would never…”   


“Stark,” Thor speaks quietly and slowly, trying to calm him down. “The spell, it isn’t just a hallucination but more, so much more.”   


“What did it do to me?” he asks.  
  
“In Asgard, the Tree of Life branches out in all directions across the universe. There are infinite realities you may inhabit,” Thor says. “The spell, it shows you just one of those relaties, the one your heart and mind seek the most, made real for you, but only for a brief moment in time.”    


“It wasn’t just about keeping you calm Tony—“ Bruce pauses—“we had to give you a reason to live.”

“Was it,” His voice breaks, so clears his throat to start again. “Was any of it real?”   


Bruce looks at his hands. “Yes and no.”   


He nods, throat burning with emotion. “Good answer Bruce, very helpful,” his voice is strangled. He stares up at the ceiling, blinking furiously.   


“This spell--it’s, it’s more than a spell,” Bruce begins to pace. “We had you hooked up to a CT scan the entire time. It was active but not like you were dreaming, but like you were going about a regular day. The REM part of your brain never let up. “ He pauses for a breath before continuing.   


“This thing, whatever Loki did, it transports your consciousness while it fixes your body. Your body was here but your mind was” he fumbles for the right word, “living another life, basically. Your brain was lighting up like a Christmas tree, Tony. “

“Stark, we can’t know what you saw,” Thor jumps in. “Loki may have glimpsed it when he went to retrieve you, but everything that happened to you, for you, it was real, but it does not exist outside of you.”   


He nods, swallowing back tears. “Not a shared reality? Nothing anyone can corroborate?”   


Thor shakes his head. “No. It is for you and you alone.”   


“That’s great. An alternate reality that kinda was real, but only to me. So helpful. Thanks for that guys, for helping me through that.”   


He knows he’s being bitter and ungrateful, that he should thank them for saving his life, for caring enough to fight to bring him back, but right now he can’t see past the grief he feels, the longing for a bed that’s too soft, and a bathroom sink so small it can’t even hold his razor.   


“We had no other choice, Tony. I knew you might hate me, hate us for it, but we had to do it,” Bruce says. Tony refuses to meet his eyes, staring at the ceiling until Bruce turns to leave. “I’d do it again Tony. In a heartbeat. We can’t lose you. There are too many people here who need you.”

_ But not like they needed me. Not like Steve and Peter.   
_

“Stark,” the firm tone in Thor’s voice demands his attention. Reluctantly, he meets Thor’s eyes. “The spell allows you to have what you most want, even if you didn’t know it. Some people, when they come out of it, go mad with longing. I’ve seen it happen. They live, but they live half lives, never really here or there, consumed with desire for that which they do not have.”   


“How am I supposed to forget?” he asks, desperate for an answer. Thor only shakes his head, knowing there’s nothing he can say.   


“We’re your friends,” he reaches over and squeezes his shoulder. “We care for you a great deal. The spell requires Loki’s touch, but it can not work without the will of many others.”   


“What, you guys all stood around in a circle while he waved his hands around? And instead of singing Kumbaya, you chanted in Asgardian, is that it?”   


Thor nods, either ignoring or not picking up on Tony’s sarcasm. “Not just myself and Bruce, but Captain Rogers and the little spider boy too.”   


Tony’s eyes snap up at their names. _   
_

_ Peter. Steve.   
_

“They both were distraught,” Thor says. “You would not have refused their pleas, and neither could I.” 

* * * 

Infinite realities, Thor had said, made real to him for a brief moment in time. None of it makes much sense to him, but he knows what he saw and felt were real, even if their little life together was ephemeral nature. He lies back in the bed and thinks about Thor’s words, the men that had been driven mad with longing. The pull of the other side is still too strong, and between waking and sleep, Tony finds the line between the two blurring, imagines he feels Steve’s hand in his, or Peter’s voice murmuring to him gently. 

He startles awake a few hours later, unaware he’d even fallen asleep, the room pitch black around him. As he lifts his arm to rub sleep out of his eyes, his hands brush against something soft lying by his side. Eyes adjust to the darkness, he sees a mess of brown hair resting on the bed next to his hip. 

_ Peter.   
_

He’s slumped forward asleep in a chair, face half buried against Tony’s side, one arm thrown across his waist. Tentatively, not wanting to wake him, Tony brushes his fingers through the boy’s hair, his throat burning with feeling.   


“He’s been here almost every night.” 

Tony looks up, startled at the sound of the voice coming from across the room.

_ Steve.   
_

His eyes strain to see Steve as he steps out of the shadows. For him it’s been five days since they’ve seen each other, for Steve, years. His hair is longer than Tony remembers, back to the dark brown it reverts to when Steve hasn’t been out in the sun too much, and the beard is new. But even in the dark, Tony knows the eyes and the eyes are the same. 

“He’s in the middle of finals,” Steve says, coming closer. “May won’t let him skip school anymore to see you, he’s already missed so much. He manages to sneak out at night, though. Up until now, you’ve always been asleep.”   


Tony stares at the boy practically sleeping in his lap, flush with affection and love. God, he missed him so much. He brings his hand to rest lightly along Peter’s back, feeling it rise and fall against him.

“And what about you?,” Tony asks, looking up. “How long have you been here?”   


“Long enough,” Steve says. They keep their voices low, not just out of respect for Peter, but in deference to the night.   


Tony drinks in the sight of him, broad shouldered and solid, and barely withstands an urge to pull Steve into an embrace, so their family can be whole again. Instead, he curls his fingers into the bedsheet, gripping tightly, determined not to give anything away.   


They aren’t partners in this life, they’re barely friends. There was a time not too long ago, that Tony would’ve bristled at the sight of him, thrown something, or gotten in another good punch. Right now, he feels nothing but heartache, for what they had, what he thinks they’re capable of having again.

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks.   


“Fine. Or, better, I should say.”   


“Did they tell you what happened?” 

He nods. Peter shifts slightly in his sleep, burrowing against Tony’s side. Steve looks down at them both, an unmistakable wave of affection crossing his face.   


“He loves you so much, Tony,” Steve says, like Tony may not know.   


Tony pets the boy’s hair lightly, the soft strands running through his fingers. “Yeah, well, the feeling’s mutual.”   


Long minutes pass, and Tony expects Steve to leave at any moment, but he doesn’t, sitting quietly at his side while Tony stares at the ceiling.

“I like the beard,” he says finally. “And the hair.” Before he can stop himself, Tony imagines winding his fingers through it.   


“Well, I’m not a soldier anymore,” Steve shrugs his shoulders.   


“Speaking of, what are you doing here?” Tony asks. It comes out sharper than he intended and 

Steve finds his eyes in the dark. 

“I came to check up on an old friend,” he says. He stares down at his clenched hands before clearing his throat. “Do you want me to go?” he asks, his voice is as uncertain as Tony’s ever heard it.   


“No,” Tony replies, blinking back tears again, his brain a mess of confused signals, the Steve and Peter in front of him now forever intertwined in his mind with the ones he just left. The same people, he tries to comfort himself. Just at different times.

Steve leans forward in his chair and lays a hand gently on Tony’s leg.   


“Get some rest,” he says, leaving his hand where it is. 

* * * 

“You didn’t tell me I’ve been getting a visitor at night.”   


Bruce is with him again, checking his vitals. Rather than spend the day in his room though, they measure his heart rate by taking a short walk around the compound. His legs are still shaky after all that time in bed, but functional. It’s the first fresh air he’s had in days.   


“Visitors,” Bruce says. “Plural. Steve’s been there every night, too. Along with Peter.” 

“Oh,” he says, warmth blooming in his chest.   


“He wasn’t sure you wanted to see him.  _ I _ wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him,” Bruce says. Tony plods along slowly with a walker while Bruce takes small steps beside him. They stay close to the shady spots, avoiding the mid day June heat. “We thought it might upset you, so he kept his distance. He’s been here the entire time. Actually,” Bruce turns and takes a comical look over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure he’s watching you now, from somewhere. Making sure you don’t fall over your own feet.”   


“How long has he been back?”   


“Since I called him, which is right after they brought you into the ER. Over two weeks now,” Bruce says. “He was at the hospital, talking to doctors, in under two hours, Tony. Him and Nat both.”   


“Does Ross know?” Tony keeps his questions practical.   


“They tried to arrest him on the second day you were under the spell,” Bruce says, giving him a wry smile. “It did not go well. Remind me to show you the damage to the other side of the medical bay. “

His lips quirk up at thought. Steve Rogers isn’t going anywhere he doesn’t want to go.   


“So what happens now? He just lurks in the shadows until they come back for him?”

Bruce stops him, his face suddenly serious. “I think he cut a deal. I don’t know the specifics, but it’s a good bet he disappears again once you’re better.”   


Tony’s heart sinks at the thought, but he keeps walking. They’d said a handful of words to each other last night but resolved nothing. By the time he woke up, both Steve and Peter had left. He’d thought of nothing but them all morning.

“Why’s the kid keeping vampire hours? May won’t let him stop by during the day? When I’m actually awake?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Bruce says, turning them back them back towards the gate. “Tony, how much do you remember from the night everything happened?”   


He shakes his head. “Not much.” His memory hasn’t sharpened past the nightmares he had while he was under, there’s just the sense of jumping from the car, running towards something, the smell and heat overwhelming. 

“Tony…” Bruce stops him, suddenly nervous. “Peter was nearby when the explosion happened. He went to help. I think, actually, we know, that you ran in after him.”   


_ Oh no no no no.   
_

“He watched it happen, Tony. He saw you get thrown halfway across the city. He thinks he’s the reason you almost died. I don’t think he’s going to be able to shake that.”   


“Fuck.” He’s furious at himself and at Peter. Fiery explosions in midtown don’t fall under the jurisdiction of a friendly, neighborhood Spider-man. “I’ve told him a thousand times to keep his distance from the really dangerous shit. What the hell was he doing there?” 

“Trying to help people, just like you,” Bruce says. “Happy says FRIDAY alerted you that his suit was being exposed to an extreme heat signature. You got curious, decided to check it out, and the next thing he knows, you’re running out of the car, into a burning building.”   


He slams his walker down in frustration, not just at his stupid mistake and at what he put the Peter through, but that he stayed away so long, nursing his fantasy while the boy was waiting for him to wake up.   


“By the time I got to the hospital, he was a mess,” Bruce keeps talking. “He blames himself, Tony. That somehow he should’ve warned you or that if he hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have been hurt. He’s just a kid, Tony. He’s already lost so much. I think May lets him come because it’s the only way he’ll get any sleep.”   


As much pain as he’s been in, trying to untangle himself from a distant reality, it’s been just as bad for the people around him. He feels like a heel for not thinking about it sooner.   


“Happy sends a car for him at night, has someone take him back home in the morning,” Bruce says, swiping his badge to get them inside. “He’s been with Steve the most though, I don’t know what they talk about, if they do talk, but they seem to have an understanding.”   


Once their inside, an aide tries to take his walker and push him along in a wheelchair, but Tony waves her away. He’s exhausted, his legs wobbly, but he’s determined to make it up to his room, powered now by purely his own self loathing at the pity party he’d thrown himself over the past few days.

“I don’t know what you saw Tony, how different it was from all this,” Bruce waves his hands around, gesturing to the concrete and glass structure around them. “But we wouldn’t have done it if there was any other choice.”   


“I know,” he says quietly. “I know that now. And I’m grateful. For everything you did for me, Bruce. I really am. I’m sorry I snapped, earlier. It’s just...hard to process.”   


Bruce nods. “So, what was it like? Was it like some fantasy? A perfect world where nothing went wrong?”   


“Nothing like that,” he says, thinking back to Steve’s PTSD, their fights about money, Peter’s anxiety. The fantasy never precluded bad things from happening, just ensured that they would get through them together.   


“So, what did you see?” Bruce asks.   


Tony takes a deep breath before answering. “Honestly, it wasn’t that different,” he says. “The accommodations were a lot smaller and the living arrangements were a surprise, but otherwise,” he smiles, realizing the truth behind the statement as he’s saying it, “the people were all the same. That’s the only thing that matters.” 

* * * 

He heads to bed after dinner, shrugging off Rhody’s offer to stay and play cards, a walk around the compound enough excitement for one day.   


“Ease up on the hydrocodone tonight,” Tony tells Bruce as he changes into a set of monogrammed pajamas Pepper had delivered earlier. The medication makes him drowsy, and he needs to be awake for what’s about to happen.   


Rather than sit in bed, he paces the room, running through FRIDAY’s logs on a tablet Happy was able to sneak in.

“Pepper’s gonna kill me, you know that, right? Happy had said while handing it over to him. “The minute you log in, a million little alerts are gonna go off and who’s she gonna blame? Me. That’s who. Not you, Mr. Technically Died for Eight Minutes.”   


With a few taps, he finds the footage he’s looking for and swipes so it projects across the room. It’s the video file from the night of the explosion, as seen from his glasses. There’s no audio, and the picture makes him dizzy right away, the sight of the building in flames making his adrenaline spike. In the video, he runs past Happy’s bulky shoulder towards a figure, no bigger than a speck, in red and blue, clinging to the side of the building.   


“Mr. Stark! You’re awake!”   


Peter hovers in the doorway. All Tony sees is big brown eyes and a mop of unruly hair.   


“Hey, kid,” he smiles. “Miss me?”   


Peter’s speechless for a second, his mouth slightly agape, surprised to see Tony up and around.   


“You going to come in or what?” Tony asks, waving him into the room.   


The slight movement of his hand is all it takes for Peter to unfreeze and rush into his arms. Tony holds him tightly, remembering another time, in another place, where Peter had clung to him like this.   


“I’m alright,” he says into boy’s hair. “It’s ok.” He rubs a hand up and down Peter’s back until the kid pulls away, wiping discreetly at his eyes.   


“Are you feeling ok?” Peter’s voice is steady, but he looks at him still as if Tony may disappear at any second.   


“I’m totally fine.” Tony pats himself on the chest, trying to convince Peter of his sturdiness, trying to make his voice as reassuring as possible. “I’ll admit my face still looks a little like hamburger meat, but come on, it’s not that bad, is it?”

Peter smiles. “No, you look great. Dr. Banner said you were awake, but I haven’t been able to come down during the day to see you, which I totally would’ve, but because I’ve already missed so much school May’s being extra stricit, but I mean, you look great. Or you look good. You look ...less bad.”   


“I feel less bad,” he smiles, enjoying Peter’s particular brand of nervous talkativeness, realizing how keenly he’d felt the boy’s absence since waking up. “You doing okay?” he asks.   


Peter nods, but Tony can see the dark circles under his eyes, and, while he’s not great at tracking these things, he’s sure Peter’s lost a few pounds. The past few weeks have taken their toll on just about everyone. 

“I just wanted to say hi,” Peter says, “I can leave if you’re tired or whatever.” He looks sheepish, already backing out of the room.   


“Actually,” Tony holds up a hand to stop his hasty exit. “I’m getting a little bored. I thought we could do some design modifications on your suit.”   


“Um, I don’t know, Mr. Stark. Dr. Banner definitely did not want you working and Ms. Potts sent me like 18 texts saying,  _ don’t let him tinker. _ I think you’re supposed to rest.”

“I’ve rested for a long time, apparently.” Tony steamrolls over his objections. He puts on his glasses and gestures for Peter to stay put. He unfreezes the video of the explosion, not missing the way Peter’s eyes instinctively fall to the floor.   


“You suit needs a few upgrades, don’t you think? Better ariel maneuverability, GPS targeting for your web shooters and,” he catches Peter’s eye quickly, “a significant heat shield, if you’re going to be running into burning buildings.”

Chagrined, Peter stares down at his folded hands. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry.”   


Tony lays a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why?” he asks gently. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Pete. You were just trying to help.”   


“You told me a million times, I’m supposed to stay away from the really dangerous stuff, but this time, I just saw the building and people were screaming. I couldn’t, I couldn’t just let them die.” 

“I know.” Tony squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m furious you didn’t call for help, but I don’t blame you for what you did.”   


Peter raises his eyes a few inches. “But you got hurt.” His voice is barely above a whisper.   


“And that’s on me, kid. No one could’ve predicted what happened. That’s the territory that comes with the job.”   


“But, you wouldn’t have tried to go in if I hadn’t been there in the first place,” Peter protests, his voice rising. “You ran in after me!”   


“Peter…”   


The boys pulls away from his grip and sits at the edge of Tony’s bed.   


“I was near the top floor window. I saw you running towards me.” He looks up at Tony, eyes watery. “You get near the door, and just..boom.”   


“There’s nothing you could’ve done for me, Peter. I knew the risks. I made a stupid decision. That’s on me, not on you. Honestly, it sounds like we’re both lucky to be alive.”   


Peter shakes his head, refusing to give up his guilt.   


“Pete, listen to me.” Tony perches on the bed next to him. “There’s no one to blame here. And look at me. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m fine. I’m not going anywhere.”   


“But you died!” Peter exclaims, his breath coming out in heavy gasps, tears welling up. “I watched it happen. Steve, I mean, Mr. Rogers, tried to pull me out of the room, but I could still hear it. Everyone was shouting but I could still hear the monitor flatline.”   


“Kid,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around the boy. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He shakes his head again, tears streaming down his face. “I just watched it happen,” he says, voice breaking. “There was nothing I could do.”   


“I’m fine now,” he says. “Everything’s ok.”   


Peter nods but his chin wobbles as he tries to hold back his sobs. Tony pulls him into the tight circle of his arms, holding him as Peter pours out all the grief, guilt and love that’s built up inside him over the past few weeks. He buries his face in Tony’s chest, crying exhausted tears.   


“It’s ok,” he soothes, “You’re alright. Everything’s ok.” He rakes his fingers through the boy’s hair, feels Peter shaking against his chest. Tony squeezes him again, kisses the top of his head, mumbles words of comfort until Peter’s sobs have quieted to little hitches in his breath.   


“I”m sorry,” Peter says, pulling away after a few minutes. He wipes at his eyes and nose with the back of his sleeve. He’s spent, his entire body limp and wrung out. “I’m just tired.”   


“Nothing to be sorry about, kid.” Tony says. “Why don’t you lie down for a minute. I’ll text Happy and he can take you home.”   


Peter nods, still not meeting Tony’s eyes. He curls into the right side of Tony’s bed and shuts his eyes. “Can I stay here?” he asks. “Just for a little bit?”   


Tony rubs his back, wipes a stray tear from Peter’s face. He nods, though Peter’s eyes are already closed, his breath evening out. “Of course,” he says softly.   


Tony watches him for a while, before lying down himself on top of the covers. He’s tired, as rung out as Peter, and closes his eyes for a brief moment. The creak of the door wakes him, he’s not sure how much time later, as Steve makes his nightly visit.   


Their eyes meet in the darkness, neither of them speaking. It’s too dark, too late, to bother with words. Peter’s drawn closer to him in sleep, head buried near Tony’s shoulder.   


Instead of sitting, Steve crosses the length of the room and goes to the closet, taking out an extra blanket. He shakes it out fully, lightly draping it over them both. Before he sits, he pauses by Peter’s feet, carefully removing his shoes and placing them on the floor. Steve slouches down and tilts his head back, closing his eyes but not sleeping, waiting for morning.   



	9. Chapter 9

Bruce transfers him back to his quarters the next day, a clear indication that he’s out of danger and on the mend. It’s a victory for sure, but Tony feels a pang of loss, knowing that the precarious state of his health was the only thing keeping Steve nearby. 

“Did he apologize?”   


“What?” Tony asks, picking the carrots out of his dinner. 

“Steve. When you said he stopped by last night? Did he apologize?” Rhody pushes another plate of greens his way. It’s the first meal he’s had outside of a bed in days. It’s an incredible feeling, eating at an actual table, wearing actual pants. He feels like a new man.   


“No, not at all actually.”   


“Well, did _you_ apologize?” Natasha asks. 

“For what?” Tony bristles.   


“For trying to kill his best friend,” she says.   


“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” he says. “I maybe maimed him a little, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. “

“Jesus, are we really going over this again,” Rhody jumps in. “Nat, look, Steve knew what Bucky did. And he slammed a shield through my man’s arc reactor. At the least, Tony’s got an  _ ‘I’m sorry’ _ coming,” Rhody says.   


“I’m not saying he’s blameless.” She is diplomatic as always. “Just that, you know, a lot of time has passed. And that Tony also torched their relationship by beating the shit out of him.”   


Tony gears up for a come back, but the look on Natasha’s face stops him cold. “Maybe after everything that’s happened, you both should get your heads out of your asses,” she says.   


“Insightful as always,” Tony mumbles. As much as it annoys him, he needs someone to call him out on his shit. “Where’s the brainwashed master assassin now, anyway?”   


“In hiding,” she says. “Or, far, far away at an undisclosed location. Steve disappears every now and then to see him, but, he never stays gone long.” 

He sighs and puts down his fork, reaching his limit of healthy eating for the day. He’s seen Steve twice, for a handful of minutes since he woke up, and neither of them spoke much. The gulf between them is still so wide, he’s not sure how to even begin breaching it.   


Does he dare ask more about Bucky? If Steve’s loyalties still lie with his best friend of almost a 100 years. He feels foolish for even thinking it, for making Steve choose. He doesn’t care if Steve sees Bucky anymore, just as long as he doesn’t disappear from Tony’s life as well.

“Tony,” Natasha grabs his hand as the leave after dinner. “You’re not the only one with regrets. Just remember that.”   


He nods and kisses her cheek goodbye. 

He knows he should find Steve, he should apologize, or at least shoulder his share of the blame, anything to start bridging the gap between where they are and what he knows they could become. But the prospect of being rebuffed stops him, keeps him trapped in his quarters. There are two Steve’s in his mind now though, the one who slept with his nose tucked into the nape of Tony’s neck, and the one who’s rigid posture and steely gaze look like they would bend for no one. 

Infinite possibilities, Thor had said, made real for a brief moment in time.   


Unable to sleep, Tony throws on a sweatshirt and heads down to the workshop. If he can’t rest, he’ll work. Peter’s suit needs upgrades anyway.   


He’s just wrapping up the first rendering when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees the brief dissipation of green, shimmering light.   


“My, you are a productive one, aren’t you?” The voice is familiar. Tony braces himself.   


_ Loki.   
_

He’s dressed in civilian clothes, a sharply tailored charcoal suit, fitted perfectly around his slim frame. As much as Tony hates to admit it, he’s got great style.   


“Only out of a coma for a week and back with your nose to the grindstone.” He carries a cane in his right hand, which Tony knows is actually his ceptor.   


“Cut the crap, Loki. What are you doing here?” Tony puts down his soldering iron. tries to calculate how quickly he can get to his suit.   


“Oh, is that any way to greet an old friend? I haven’t come here to make trouble.” He raises his palms in mock surrender. “Merely to see to the affects of our little experiment.”

“You know, Thor said that getting to Earth from Asgard wasn’t that easy, and yet, you seem to make it down here a lot.”   


“Well, it’s an easy trip if you know the right people.” He gives Tony a wink.   


“I’m asking again, what do you want?”   


“I told you, I’m not here for anything. Just to see you. Though, I must say I am disappointed. My brother said you were adjusting fine and it seems he was right. Look at you, not just a picture of health, but of mental stability.” He walks past Tony’s work table, idly picking up his tools. “I think he told you, but you’re indeed one of the lucky ones. Many don’t come back at all, and the ones who do, are driven mad by longing.” 

He leans closer to Tony, eyes searching his face.   


“You’ve got a sturdy exterior, but your eyes are comically sad,” he almost laughs. “I never understood you humans, honestly. One minute, crying and moaning about what you don’t have, and the other stoically pretending you never wanted it in the first place. You’ve been given a gift Mr. Stark and yet you treat it as a curse.”   


“A gift? Is that what you call it?” Tony’s hand involuntarily curls into a fist. “Showing me what could have been and then ripping it away from me? Is that what passes as a gift on Asgard?”

“Your minds are so simple.” Loki shakes his head in disdain. “Even you, who's meant to be a genius among the humans. You can only see it as what’s been taken away from you, instead of what’s been given to you. Maybe you really are a simpleton, like that handsome captain of yours.”

“Don’t talk about him,” Tony snaps. “You don’t know anything about what I saw.”   


“Oh don’t I?” Loki laughs and with a wave of his hand transforms into a teenager with dark hair and big eyes, the girl who’d taken their picture at Parent’s Night. With another snap of his fingers, he changes again, this time he’s the pretty nurse he’d joked with at the hospital.   


Loki laughs at the shocked look on Tony’s face. “You think what you saw is lost to you forever, that the human heart is not yours to command or control. Yet, you don’t see what’s right in front of you.”   


He looks around at Tony’s lab and shakes his head in pity.   


“The spell isn’t a curse, Mr. Stark,” he says, green light already starting to shimmer around him. “It’s a blueprint.”   


With that, he gives Tony a wink and vanishes. 

* * *

_ A blueprint.   
_

The words stick in his mind as he takes the elevator back up to his wing. The hubris, to treat what he’d seen as a glimpse into the future, rather than a reality out of his grasp. Still, the idea sticks in his head, makes his step a little lighter as he crosses the threshold into his bedroom.   


At this time of night, the blackout shades have already been pulled tight, making the room pitch black. Because of the darkness, it takes Tony a few moments to notice a figure slumped over in a chair by the bed.   


“Steve?” he says, laying a hand gently on Steve’s shoulder, startling him awake.   


“Tony,” he says, straightening up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Hey.”   


“FRIDAY, lights at 15%,” Tony says. Soft, yellow light fills the room. Steve scrubs a hand through his hair and beard, trying to shake the tiredness from his frame. He looks wrecked, making Tony wonder when was the last time he got a good night’s sleep. “What are you doing here?” he asks gently.   


“Bruce wanted me to check on you,” Steve says, which Tony knows is a lie. His vitals are being monitored by the digital medical bracelet he’s wearing. Bruce knows he’s perfectly OK.   


“I’m fine,” Tony says. “Just got caught up upgrading Peter’s suit.”   


Steve nods, standing up, clearly still dazed. “Good,” he says, not giving him shit for working too hard. “If he’s going to be running into burning buildings he better be prepared.”   


“See, that’s exactly what I thought.”   


He nods again and sidesteps Tony, making a hasty retreat to the door. “I’ll leave you alone, so you can get some rest.”   


“Wait,” Tony says, trying to think of a reason to keep him in the room. “Um, how much longer are you planning on staying?” The question comes out sharper than he intended.   


There’s a small flicker of movement across Steve’s face, as he draws himself up to his full height. Just like that, the Steve Rogers Tony had been talking to is replaced by Captain America.

“I can be gone anytime you want, Tony” he says.   


Tony sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “That’s not what I meant,” he says. “At ease, ok. I was just asking.”   


Steve relaxes a fraction but still looks like he’s bracing for a blow. “You need anything else?” Steve asks.   


“No, no I’m good. Thanks. Really.” Their eyes meet briefly and with a curt nod Steve turns to leave, his hand on the doorknob when Tony stops him again.   


“You know, I carried that damn cell phone with me everywhere,” Tony says.

Steve turns to face him.   


“And I mean, everywhere. Literally. I would grab it before a date with Pepper, had it on me when we went jogging. Even slept with it on my nightstand.” Tony stares at him from across the room, wondering how they can be so near each other and yet, so far apart. “I don’t know why I kept it with me. I memorized the number ages ago. It’s not like I needed the actual phone.”   


“Then why did you keep it?” Steve asks quietly.   


“I thought about that for a long time. Why keep this ancient piece of tech with me at all times. But then it hit me.” He looks up at Steve, shaking his head. “I was waiting for it to ring.”   


Steve stares down at the floor, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Tony, I’m so sorry.”   


“For two years, I picked it up, slipped it into my pocket and waited for it to buzz. I mean, you’ve got plenty of ways to reach me, but I thought if you called, if you needed me, this is how you’d do it.”   


“I waited too, Tony,” Steve says, the sternness disappearing from his face. “I waited for the phone to ring. I thought after you got my letter, there was a chance, some small chance you’d call.”   


“I wanted to,” Tony admits. “I must have pulled it out a hundred times over the past two years. I would sit there with my finger on the key for so long,” he shakes his head, unable to stop the words now that they’re finally coming out of his mouth. “Not because I was in trouble, or the Avengers needed you. I just missed you. That’s all.” He shrugs his shoulders as if conceding defeat, having laid bare everything. “I missed the hell out of you, Steve. Honestly. “   


“Me too,” Steve whispers, his voice suddenly hoarse. “Maybe it doesn’t change things between us, or change what happened, but, I missed you. I never wanted to hurt you Tony. I kept it from you because I knew this would happen. That if you knew about Bucky you wouldn’t be able to forgive me. And that I’d lose you. I couldn’t bare it, Tony. I couldn’t make myself do it.” 

Tony blinks back his own tears, his throat burning with regret. He takes a few tentative steps towards Steve and grips his shoulder tightly. Steve drops his eyes, but not before Tony can see that they’re also watery and red.   


“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers again, thinking of all the time they lost. “Not a day goes by that I don’t regret it.”   


“You don’t have to forgive me, but I can’t lose you again, Tony.” Steve raises his head and meets his eyes. A tear slips down his cheek. “You died. They brought you in in critical condition and nothing they did made you stable. For eight minutes your heart stopped,” his voice breaks, making Tony dig his nails into Steve’s shoulder. “I thought that was it, that it was over, and if you’re not here…” the rest of his sentence is muffled as Tony pulls him into his arms. Steve clutches at him, pressing Tony’s thin frame into the bulk of his arms. Tony holds him back just as tightly. 

How scared he’d been he’d never have this again, Tony thinks. How terrified that he’d spend a lifetime in Steve’s orbit but never be able to touch him, not like this. He pulls him in tighter, reveling in how familiar it feels, how real, the Steve in his arms now interlaced forever with the one in his mind. Tony turns his face into Steve’s hair and takes a deep breath, weeping at the familiar smell of sandalwood mixed with citrus.   


They stand in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around each other, until Tony’s leg starts to shake with fatigue. He pulls away gently, but holds onto Steve’s arm for support. Realizing he’s kept Tony on his feet too long, Steve curses and walks him over to the bed. Tony toes off his shoes and lies down.   


“I could sleep for a week,” Tony says, shutting his eyes. He feels drained, but lighter than he has in years.   


The mattress dips slightly as Steve sits next to him. “You want me to go, so you can rest?” He sounds so unsure, even now, that Tony fumbles for his hand and lays it across his chest.   


“I guess that’s a no,” Steve says. The back of his free hand ghosts lightly against Tony’s cheek.   


He grunts back a response, his mind already drifting in and out of the room. He’s gotten used to sleeping with Steve and it’s a habit he’s not keen to break. 

* * *

He wakes up the next morning to Steve-sized dent on the far side of the mattress. He sighs and pats the light indentation on top of the covers, knowing Steve had probably lain next to him for only a few brief moments.   


“FRIDAY?” he calls, still lying in bed and thinking of Loki’s words.   


_ A blueprint.   
_

“At your service, boss. What can I do for you?”  


“Pull up real estate listings in Manhattan, please. We’re looking for an apartment. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, western exposure with exposed brick. Oh, and a dishwasher.”   


“Downloading now.”   


He lifts himself up gingerly from the bed, taking stock of the strength in his legs and the twinges in his back, when FRIDAY interrupts him.   


“Boss, you’ve got a guest waiting downstairs.”   


His heart flips for a second, hoping it’s Steve.   


“If it’s Secretary Ross tell him I died,” he says, heading for the bathroom.   


“It’s May Parker.” The name stops him in his tracks. There are any number of reasons she could be here, none of them particularly good. 

“Send her up,” he sighs.   


Tony thinks about wearing a suit to face the music, trying to make himself seem as intimidating as possible, but in the end it’s too much work, his body too stiff to accommodate much more than jeans and a flannel shirt. She’s already waiting in the lounge when he walks in, but surprises him with a warm smile as she leans in to hug him hello.   


“I gotta say, I’m relieved,” he says, patting her back. “It was 50-50 on whether you were here to kill me or just lop off a limb or something.”   


“I still might, I guess,” she says, sitting down. He pours her coffee that’s already been laid out. “I just wanted to…” she waves her hands around and lets out a little laugh. “I don’t know honestly, see how are you but also yell at you, I guess.”   


He nods, understanding her frustration. “Get in line,” he says. “Pepper’s probably got first dibs.”   


“You look better, at least,” she says. “Before, in the hospital…” she trails off again, not sure what else to say. “It’s remarkable, that you’re still here.” 

“So they tell me.” He takes a sip of his coffee and catches her eye. “How’s Peter?” he asks, knowing that’s who they’re both here to talk about.   


Her face falls just a fraction when she speaks. “I’d like him to be better,” she says. “It’s been a hard few weeks for him. He wouldn’t be here if he couldn’t handle it, but, he’s just a kid.” 

“I’m sorry. I really am, May. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, especially not Peter.”   


“I’m not blaming you,” May says. “I did, right after the accident and when the fire was all over the news, but I know Peter made those choices, and I’m proud he did. I know that suit is the only thing keeping him alive some days, and I’m so grateful, I really am, but...” she cuts herself off, afraid of what else she might say.    


“Just say it,” he says, bracing himself for the worst. He steels himself, waits for May to lash into him for encouraging all this in the first place, for outfitting a 16-year-old with tech that can kill when he should be focused on college essays and band practice. “But what? But you wish I’d never come to your apartment that day two years ago?”   


She shakes her head. “No, it’s not that at all.” She sighs again, screwing up her courage. “But he needs more from you.”

Tony looks up, surprised at her words. He’d half expected her to deliver a restraining order, demand he stay the hell away from her nephew.   


“When you were in the coma, he came to see you almost every night. Did you know that?”   


He nods, remembering Bruce’s words.   


“At first, they wouldn’t let him in the room so he sat outside the door for hours, until Captain Rogers, Steve, pulled him away, made him eat something. I tried to tell him that you were being taken care of, but I couldn’t keep him away. It was pointless to try.” She gets up and paces the room, her words coming quicker and with more purpose. “Do you know what it’s like to have kids, Mr. Stark?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Tony shakes his head no anyway.   


“They need so much from you,” she says. “Not just the basic things, like food and clothing and shelter, but love and patience and understanding and encouragement. The suit, the technology, the money, all that stuff, none of that is why he spent the last few weeks sleeping at the hospital.” She pauses and takes a deep breath, tapping at her chest. “This kid, he loves with his entire heart. His whole heart. I wish he didn’t, I wish he wouldn’t care so much, but he does.”    


“I’d do anything for him, May,” Tony says, this chest tightening, unsure of how to make her understand what he’d just given up, the fantasy he’s harbouring in his heart right now. “I would never let anything happen to him.”   


“I know that,” she says, brushing back her hair. “What I’m trying to say is that, with kids, you can never love them enough. There’s no such thing as too much. For a long time, it was just me and him, and now, he has you too. Just, just don’t be careless with that. Please.”   


He stands up and grips her by the shoulders, meeting her eyes. “I wouldn’t,” he says. “He means the world to me, May. I’d never take that for granted.” 

“Good. Good.” She brushes at her eyes, her voice retaining some steel. “He needs you. Not to be Iron Man, but to be Tony Stark. Everything he’s going through now, he’s going to lean on you so much, just be there for him. Promise me.” 

“Always,” he says. “I promise. I’ll always be there for him.”   


She embraces him again, squeezes him a little tighter this time, and gathers up her things to leave. Tony walks her out into the hall, where she stops and fumbles for something in her bag.  
  
“He’s the one who drove him home every morning, did you know that?”

“What?” Tony asks.

“Steve. He’s the one who drove Peter home from the compound every morning.” From her bag she pulls out a photograph and hands it to him. “He fell asleep in the car a couple of times, and instead of waking him up, Steve just carried him up 6 flights of stairs.” 

Tony looks down at the snapshot in his hand, a dark silhouette of broad shoulders standing under a dim hallway light, Peter’s head resting against his shoulder. He holds the picture tightly, the symmetry of memory cutting across time and space.   


“Don’t show Peter,” she says. “He’s embarrassed enough about it. He’ll kill me if he knows there’s a photo.”   


“Steve’s a good guy,” Tony says, as if it isn’t a glaring understatement.   


“He is,” she agrees. “But that’s not why he did it. He loves Peter because you love him, Tony. I’m sorry he had to leave again. Peter’s going to miss him.”   


“Wait, what?” Tony’s eyes snap up from the photo. “He left?”   


“As I was coming in,” May says. “He asked me how Peter was and told me to tell him goodbye. Said he would be out of touch for awhile.”

Tony braces his arm against the wall, a sinking feeling in his gut. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, didn’t you know?” she asks.   


“No, no, I didn’t know,” Tony says letting the news sink in. “But, I don’t know a lot about Steve, I guess.”   


“I’m sorry,” May says again. “It’s none of my business, but I hope he comes back soon. I hope you two can make it work.”   


He scoffs at the idea, kicking himself for thinking one teary embrace would solve everything. “I’m not sure if there's anything left to make work, May.”   


She squeezes his hand lightly before stepping into the elevator. “He took such good care of Peter because he knows how much he means to you, Tony. He’ll be back.” 

She gives him a little wave as the doors shut, leaving Tony alone in the hallway.   



	10. Chapter 10

It’s not an exact replica. It wouldn’t be impossible, not with the amount of detail he remembers and the resources at his disposal, but it wouldn’t be practical.  


In the end, the apartment Tony decides on is slightly bigger, with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a den he converts into a workshop, and a small terrace right off the kitchen. Ideal in case Iron Man is needed somewhere in a hurry. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice rings out through the apartment as the front door slams shut. “I picked up Thai food.”  


His first night in the new place, Tony had stayed outside on the balcony’s edge, staring alternately at the sliver of a city view in front of him, and gazing inside into the apartment. The place was furnished like he wanted, two large leather couches taking up the bulk of the living space, a coffee table large enough for clutter and three pairs of feet, plus large plants along the far wall of the living area. Yet, when he looked inside, all Tony saw was what was missing from the picture, the mishmash of shoes kicked off by the door, mail piled up on the table, sweatshirts thrown carelessly across the sofa. The stuff families normally accumulate. 

“Mr. Stark?” Peter calls him again from the kitchen. “Dr. Banner says that since I’m the one whose here most often I’m responsible for making sure you eat.”  


He had stayed outside for a long time, weary of the fantasy he’d tried to will into existence, feeling incalculably foolish for having dared to hope for this much. He could buy the apartment, but Peter’s affections and Steve’s loyalties were beyond his control. He was about to gamble huge with his heart. What if, in the end, all he had was a nice piece of real estate to show for it?  


“Mr. Stark?” Peter leans against the door to the den, tugging at the zipper of his hoodie. “I’m hungry. Can we eat?”

Tony swipes away the energy calculations he’s working on, incapable of telling Peter to wait a few more minutes.  


“Yeah, kid, let’s do it.”

That first night, Tony had finally gone inside, taken a deep breath, and texted Peter an address and a time.  _ Buzz 702,  _ he wrote. After thinking a minute, he’d added  _ Do you like Thai food? _

Peter’s response had been immediate.  _ Who doesn’t?  
_

They sit at the table now, almost three months later, and slip into a well practiced routine. Tony opening containers and portioning out curry while Peter rambles about his day, last night’s patrol, his plans for later this evening. 

“No heavy stuff, Pete,” Tony warns him. “May will kill me if you get hurt.”  


“That’s not gonna happen.” He dismisses Tony with a wave of his hand. “But, the new suit is killer Mr. Stark. Like, can’t not take it out for a test run.”  


“In by 11 or I send the drones after you.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but Tony knows he’s made his point. One involuntary extraction from a crime scene had been more than enough for Peter. The entire incident had ended up on social media and even become a meme.  


They eat quietly for a few moments, before Peter pipes up again.  


“So,” he says, far too casually. “Have you heard from Steve?”  


Tony pauses mid bite, before resuming chewing. “No,” he says, reaching for his water.  


“I mean, I was just wondering because it’s been three months and he hasn't been around. No big deal, but I thought maybe if anyone heard from him, maybe it would be you.”  


“Nope.” Tony bites off the word, refusing to take the bait.   


“You’ve got his number right? Can you call him?”  


“Peter, why are you pushing this?” Tony asks. “He was gone for two years last time, I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”  


Peter’s face falls at the words, but he recovers his optimism quickly. “I’m sure he has a good reason for being gone. He wouldn’t just leave. If you just called him...”  


Tony sighs and puts down his fork. “I already tried to call him, Pete. Multiple times. No answer, kid. I’m sorry.”  


“Oh.”  


“Look, it’s not about you, ok? Don’t take it personally. Technically, he’s a fugitive from justice. Plus, things between me and him, they’re complicated.”  


“I’m not taking it personally,” Peter says, pushing his food around. “I was just thinking about you. I know you miss him. And maybe you shouldn’t let another two years go by without seeing each other again.”  


“That’s not,” he stops, unsure of what to say or why this is coming up now. “I don’t have a lot of control over it, Pete. I don’t know where he is, or how to even get in touch with him.”

Peter shrugs his shoulders and goes back to his food.  


“Why are you bringing this up now, anyway? Did something happen?” Tony asks.  


At first Peter shakes his head, but he’s never been a good liar. “I saw you last night,” he says quietly. “Standing on the balcony till late. You looked just like Aunt May, right after Uncle Ben died. Like you were waiting for someone to come home.”  


Tony stares down at his food, embarrassed to have given so much of himself away. “Steve and I...it’s not...we’re not like that.”  


_ Technically, we’ve never even kissed, _ he thinks.  


“But you love him, right?” Peter asks, already sure of the answer.   


Tony gives him an almost invisible nod.  


“And I know he loves you,” Peter keeps going, not stopping when Tony opens his mouth to protest. “He was there the entire time you were sick. Everyone was worried, but it was different for Steve. When Mr. Thor suggested the spell, Dr. Banner and Colonel Rhodes said it was a bad idea, but he was the one who convinced them. He beat up 18 guys Secretary Ross sent because he didn’t want to leave you. I know I’m just a kid, but I’m not stupid.”  


“I know you’re not,” Tony says. “People’s lives are complicated, Peter. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you get to be with them. Sometimes it’s enough to just know they’re ok. That’s the best you can hope for.”  


“It doesn’t make any sense,” Peter says, shaking his head.  


“I’m fine, kid,” he says, trying to reassure him. And for the most part, Tony means it. In a way, the past three months have been more than Tony had any right to hope for, a gift he wasn’t going to look in the mouth because of the absence of one super soldier.   


After their first dinner at his new place, Peter had found reason after reason to visit. Suit upgrades, patrol reports, tech questions, until soon he was coming by daily right after school and staying through dinner. Tony had approached it gently, let Peter figure out his comfort level with him and the place, see if the pieces would fall into place. They had been running over calculations one night, later than usual, when Peter had drifted off in Tony’s desk chair. He stirred slightly when Tony had laid a hand on his shoulder, and agreed sheepishly when Tony asked if he just wanted to stay the night. With May’s blessing, he’d spent more and more time with Tony over the past two months till he felt inextricably woven into the kid’s life. The second bedroom, once so empty, now routinely had dirty laundry on the floor, posters on the wall, and piles of old computer junk Peter was hoping to fix.  


It wasn’t everything, but it was a lot, more than he had any right to.  


“You don’t have to worry about me, ok?” he says, squeezing Peter’s shoulder.  


Yes, he missed Steve, missed him like a severed limb, but, now, three months later, the pain had become dull and omnipresent, something he knew he could learn to endure, no matter how much he didn’t want to. He would see Steve again, that he was sure of, there would be another mission, another crisis, and they’d fight alongside each other, as they’d done so many times before. Whether it would be months or years from now, he wasn’t sure. What there wouldn’t be though, what would have to remain relegated to his memory, would be the careless brush of fingertips across his bare back, the weight of an arm thrown around him in sleep, the brief, goodbye push of Steve’s lips against his.  


Whatever Steve felt, love, friendship, loyalty, it wasn’t strong enough to keep him around. People’s lives were complicated, and while he had had a taste of a different life, there was no reason for Steve to share that same vision.  


“People want different things out of their lives,” Tony says. “It’s no one’s fault.”  


But Peter shakes his head and refuses to let it go. “No, you didn’t see what I saw. He’s gone for a reason. He wouldn’t just leave. He wouldn’t.”  


Tony thinks about arguing but finds himself hoping that Peter is right.  


“Maybe,” Tony says, giving in. “Maybe, he’ll come back.” 

* * * 

People make their way to the apartment all the time. Happy, Pepper, Rhody, Nat, but no one gives him more shit about it than Bruce, who resents like hell having to leave the confines of the compound if he wants to see Tony.  


“What’s with this place, anyway?” he asks, throwing his keys on the side table. “It’s practically archaic as far as you’re concerned. No AI set up, minimal security. Anyone could bust through that lock in an instant, Tony.”  


“Yeah, but on the bright side, there’s less chance of us being hacked,” Tony says, peeking around the refrigerator. Takeout’s getting old, and lately Tony’s been trying to learn how to cook, to mixed results.   


“It just seems quaint, old-fashioned even,” Bruce says hovering over him. “I mean, it barely has a dishwasher. It’s almost like you didn’t buy this place for yourself.”  


“How do you feel about frozen pizza for dinner,” he says, trying to change the topic. He hasn’t told Bruce anything about what he saw during his time in the spell, but he’s pretty sure Bruce has figured some of it out. “Or I could boil water and make pasta. Those are your two options if you want to stay in for dinner.”

“Interesting that this place is just a few blocks away from Peter’s school,” Bruce says hovering by the fridge. “And that getting to his NYU summer classes couldn’t be easier. Plus, it’s a straight shot to get into Brooklyn. Funny how that that never entered your mind.”  


“Yep, crazy coincidence,” Tony says flippantly, shutting the fridge. “Come on, we’ll go out for dinner.”  


“Um hm, “ Bruce says grabbing his arm before he can walk past him. “One day, you’re going to have to tell me what this is really about.” He has that disarming look on his face, the one that lacks any sense of guile and makes people tell him the truth. 

And god he wants to, wants to tell someone everything that he saw and felt, the whole other life he lived for two weeks that is now inextricably a part of him. But he doesn’t, not yet.  


“Some day,” he nods. “But right now, I’m hungry.” He walks down the hall and knocks on the kid’s door. “Peter, let’s go. Dinner.”  


Bruce makes the most of his time in the city, both of them working well into the night after coming back from dinner. Peter’s already asleep, having gotten back from his patrol hours ago. It’s almost 2 by the time Bruce stretches and yawns and has Tony call him a car.  


“Couch is more than comfortable,” Tony says. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?”  


“Nah, not sure I need to see you first thing in the morning. Plus, how bad can the traffic be at 2 am.”  


“You’d be surprised,” Tony jokes and gives him a hug on the way out.  


He’s in the bathroom, washing up a few minutes later, when he just barely catches the sound of the front door opening again. He dries his hands and steps out into the hallway, tugging on a worn Stark Industries t-shirt. New York street lights filter in through the large living room windows, throwing shadows across every surface. 

“Bruce,” he calls quietly, not wanting to wake Peter. “You forget something?”  


It’s not Bruce, but Steve Rogers, silhouetted in darkness, standing just inside the kitchen.  


“Hi Tony,” he says.  


Tony shakes his head in surprise, blinking a few times to make sure the figure in front of him is actually who he wants it to be. Steve stands there, shoulders back and high, stretched to his full height. Even in jeans and a dark sweater, he looks like Captain America. It’s his battle stance, the one that gives nothing away.   


“Hi,” he says back, jaw still agape. “What, what, are you doing here?” he asks, taking a few steps towards him.  


“I like the new place,” Steve says, looking around. “It looks great, Tony. You need better locks though, not much security. Anyone can break in.”  


“Yeah, it’s been mentioned,” he mutters, still staring in disbelief. It’s been three months. Three long, painful months. If he wasn’t so happy to see him, he’d be fucking pissed. “Jesus Christ Steve, where the hell have you been?”  


“Around,” Steve says. He’s standing stock still, his posture reminding Tony of another time in another place where Steve, bottling up a world of hurt, had been too afraid to let down his guard. “You have every right to be mad at me, Tony. I don’t expect you not to be, I just,” he pauses over his words. “I just wanted to see you.”

“I’m not mad,” he says quietly, determined not to repeat the same mistakes as last time. “I was worried though. Are you ok?” He barely resists the urge to cup Steve’s face in his hands, check him over for bruises.  


“I’m fine.” he says, his voice clipped and short, a clear indication to Tony that he’s anything but.  


“Then where have you been? It’s been three months, Steve.” His voice breaks unexpectedly. “I missed you. The kid missed you. We all missed you.”  


“I know. I’m sorry. I cut a deal,” he says, staring down at the dining table.  


“What?”  


“While you were sick. I saw Ross and cut a deal.” He meets Tony’s gaze and holds it. “We kept it quiet, but as soon as you were out of danger, I turned myself in for sentencing.”

“What?” Tony sputters again. “What the hell are you talking about?”  


Steve shakes his head, his shoulders slumping slightly. As hard as the past three months have been on Tony, he sees the strain of them showing up now on Steve’s face.  


“The Accords are clear, Tony. Ross and I had to come to some kind of an agreement.”  


“What were the terms?” he asks, suddenly knowing exactly what they where, why Steve hadn’t answered his phone for months.  


“Nothing you need to worry about,” Steve says, trying to placate him.  


“He locked you up didn’t he?” Tony says, voice rising. “Were those the terms? Three months in Raft prison?”

Steve gives him a curt nod.  


“That fucking guy,” Tony mutters, his fury rising. He lets out a string of curses, angry enough to put on the Iron Man suit right now and drop a tank on the secretary’s house. “And you retire? That’s part of the deal too?”  


Steve nods again, his gaze on the floor.   


“You didn’t just do it for you, did you?” Tony already knows the answer. “What else did he give you?”  


“Full immunity for Wanda, Clint, Sam, Natasha and Scott.”  


“And all you had to do was rot in jail for three months?” Tony shakes his head.   


“It’s a good deal, Tony, I had to take it.”  


“Why? Why didn’t you just tell me what was happening? Why would you just disappear like that?” 

In the darkness, Tony can make out the hint of a smile across Steve’s lips. “Because I knew you’d react this way. I told Natasha, but made her swear not to tell anyone. You running in and staging a prison break wouldn’t have helped anyone, Tony. I’m tired of fighting.”  


“But you won’t be an Avenger anymore,” Tony says.  


“Do I need to be?” Steve looks up at him again, weariness etched across his face.   


“No,” Tony says, laying the barest suggestion of a hand on Steve’s elbow. “But why? Why did you do it?”  


“Because,” Steve says, voice tight. “I didn’t want to leave. Not again. I couldn’t do it, not after everything that happened. To be on the run again, to not see you, I couldn’t.”  


Tony takes Steve’s face in his hands, brushes his thumb against the softness of his beard. Steve curls his own hand around Tony’s and squeezes his eyes shut.  


“Three months is a price I’m more than willing to pay,” he says.  


‘You should’ve told me, Steve. You can’t just disappear like that. Not again.”  


“I know. I’m sorry, but it was the only way.”  


“So, you’re free now?”  


“Something like that,” Steve says, and Tony knows the full details of his time with Ross are bound to be more complicated than just three months in the ocean pokey.   


“Can you stay?” Tony asks him, his thumb tracing Steve’s jaw.  


“Do you want me to?” Steve asks, lowering his eyes.   


Tony nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “More than anything,” he whispers. He tips his head forward and kisses him finally, pressing their lips together like he’s longed to do for months and months. Steve opens into his mouth, a small gasp of surprise replaced with a moan as he lets Tony kiss him thoroughly.  


Tony pulls away before it gets to be too much, knowing his light years ahead in his mind of where their relationship is, that he has to let Steve get there on his own, each step a choice he makes of his own volition, and not because Tony pushes him. 

For now, Steve leans into him, breathing heavy, hands clutching at his waist.   


“Come on,” Tony says, tracing his own fingers across Steve’s back. “You’re dead on your feet.”

He leads them to his bedroom, but pauses when Steve hovers uncertainly by the door.  


“I’ll take the couch if you want” Tony says, worried he’s overstepped. But Steve shakes his head and takes Tony hand, pulling him closer. They kiss again in the doorway, this time with much more promise, before Tony pulls away, determined to take it slow. Tony pulls back the covers and watches as Steve strips down to his shorts and joins him in bed. They trade a series of slow, soft kisses until they’re both mostly asleep.  


“No more watching me while I sleep and being gone in the morning, Rogers,” Tony says, carding his fingers through Steve’s hair.  


Steve nods, his eyes slipping shut. “Tony,” he mumbles, “What did you see, while you were under the spell.”  


“Honestly, it wasn’t much different from this,” Tony says, kissing him again.  


* * *

When he wakes up the next morning, it’s to the sound of voices drifting in from the main room. 

Throwing back the covers, Tony stumbles out to meet them. 

There, bathed in bright morning sunshine is Peter, sitting at the table, talking a blue streak, and Steve Rogers, leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee. 


End file.
